


The Consent of Twain

by terma_archivist



Category: Highlander: The Series
Genre: F/M, First Time, M/M, Multi, Threesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-01-01
Updated: 2002-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:49:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 28,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26535379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/terma_archivist/pseuds/terma_archivist
Summary: First time Methos/Duncan/Amanda. A wank that is mercifully free of the ravages of plot. A little silly.
Relationships: Amanda Darieux/Duncan MacLeod/Methos (Highlander)
Kudos: 5
Collections: TER/MA





	1. Consent of Twain

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alicettlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [TER/MA](https://fanlore.org/wiki/TER/MA) and was moved to the AO3 as part of the Open Doors project in 2019. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are the creator and would like to claim this work, please contact me using the e-mail address on [the TER/MA collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/terma/profile).  
> Comments: Graphic heterosexual and homosexual adult content. Disclaimer: This story is rated NC-17 for graphic depiction of sexual activity with both genders. You have been warned.

  
**Consent of Twain  
by Aristide**

  
_"Naught can constrain  
consent of twain."   
—Old English Proverb_

Methos felt the buzz of Immortal presence as he walked up the ramp of the barge, and his steps quickened a little. Duncan was home, then. Good. He'd thought that MacLeod might do a disappearing act after killing Kalas, despite the happy ending; and Methos had hoped to see the Highlander again before he fled back to Seacouver. 

Humming a little under his breath, Methos approached the outer door to the barge. He was actually raising his hand to knock when the door sprang open and a black streak leapt out at him. 

"Mmumph!" Methos managed, backpedaling frantically in an effort not to fall on his ass. There was a lithe body wrapped completely around him, and his face was being smothered in folds of dark silky cloth that smelled of perfume. 

"Yikes!" he heard faintly, and then hearing and sight returned fully as he was released. 

"Amanda," he said breathlessly, "what in the world was that about?" 

Amanda smoothed her rumpled robe, trying hard for a dignity that was somewhat strained on a small, barefoot woman wearing a man's silk lounging robe that was at least ten sizes too big. 

"Sorry, Methos," she said without a trace of self-consciousness, "I thought you were Duncan." 

Methos smiled. "Well, if it makes you fling yourself at me, you can go ahead and think so—here, I'll help." He lowered his voice, striving for that dense burr that Duncan manifested when his emotions ran high, "'Och, lassie, gi' me some haggis afor' I go inta' battle!'" 

Amanda frowned fiercely. "That was truly horrid, Methos," she complained, "you sound like Robert Burns on Quaaludes." 

"Is that what you drove him to? I never thought it polite of me to ask." 

Amanda punched him playfully on the arm and Methos chuckled, as if his bicep wasn't completely numb. 

"I take it he's gone out then?" Methos asked seriously, subduing the urge to rub his offended appendage. 

Amanda nodded, wrapping the robe more firmly around her body. Methos noticed for the first time that it was quite cool out here this evening, and tried not to stare at the way Amanda's nipples were outlined by the thin silk. 

"I expect him back soon, as you may have guessed." 

Methos felt mild embarrassment heating his cheeks, and cursed his telltale pallor. 

"Well, I'll be going," he mumbled, turning towards the ramp, "will you tell Duncan I stopped by?" 

"Methos—wait!" Amanda pursued him across the deck, unmindful of the chill wind that plucked at her robe, revealing bare, smooth legs. "What did you want? I mean—do you need me to give him a message?" 

"Oh no, no message," Methos responded quickly. Did she really think he couldn't take a hint when one was standing mostly naked in front of him? "I was just dropping by—you know..." 

Amanda was smirking at him, eyes bright behind windblown tangles of hair. "Just a friendly visit?" she asked archly. 

Methos ignored her tone, forcing his cold hands deep into the pockets of his coat. "Yes. A friendly visit. Just to talk." He felt ridiculously defensive. 

Amanda turned her head coquettishly to the side, eyeing him up and down. "Just to talk?" she asked, "Not to look?" 

Heat stained Methos' cheeks again as her question absorbed into his consciousness. "What are you on about, Amanda?" he demanded, meeting her playfulness with cool reserve. 

Amanda was shaking her head. "Oh no you don't, Methos," she chided, "don't try that haughtier-than-thou act on with me. I'm not blind, you know. I've seen the way you look at him." 

Methos had honed his reasoning skills to lightning-quickness over five thousand years, giving him ample time to prepare a response calculated to devastate Amanda's pert insinuations. 

"So what?" he asked irritably. 

Amanda smiled, moving towards him until they were almost touching, her face turned up to his with teasing confidence. 

"So..." she said gently, reaching out and taking the lapels of his coat in her small hands, "So—I want to watch." 

"You want to _what_?" he asked unbelievingly. The chill night air was much more apparent now, given that he was suddenly so hot he felt like he glowed. 

Amanda moved a step closer, the only one that remained between them. The folds of the robe she wore rustled against his coat, the sound maddeningly loud to his ears. 

"Come on, Methos," she said seductively, "I've been waiting for someone like you for a long time. He trusts you, he likes you, and you're very attractive." Methos couldn't believe it but she actually batted her eyelashes, and to his even greater surprise it worked—it was abruptly laughably difficult to maintain his stoic exterior. 

"Look, Amanda," he said cautiously, reaching to tug at her hands, "I'm very flattered, and I'm sure that you'll be able to—" 

"Don't try to tell me you don't want him," Amanda said softly, nuzzling herself against him with a gentle wiggling motion that sent chills of delight down his spine; a signal his body hadn't felt in so long it seemed almost new, "you know it would be perfect—I'm hot, he's innocent, and you're—" her hands released him, sliding quickly down to the front of his pants, causing both of them to gasp, "well, you're hung like a horse, for one thing." 

"Amanda!" he squawked, scandalized, "Let go!" 

She did, but not before she gave him a tantalizing squeeze. Methos drew in a deep breath, trying to clear the haze of confusion and arousal that seemed to be making everything fuzzy. She was so close, so warm and tempting...but then his mind locked onto one detail, the one thing that remained clear despite all of Amanda's talent. 

"He'd never go for it, Amanda," Methos said resolutely, shaking his head. "You know it as well as I. I've read his Chronicle—the boy is as straight as they come." He paused and squeezed her just a little, alive to the springy warmth of her body in his arms. "Duncan is not about to tumble into bed with me—not even if you're in it too." 

Amanda sighed. "Oh ye of little faith," she said, resting the top of her head against Methos' chest. "We trick him into it, silly," she continued, "we have to be sly, plotting, and devious." She looked up at him abruptly, as demanding as a child on a birthday morning. "Do you mean to tell me that you've been alive for five thousand years and you haven't learned how to be devious?" 

"I have some acquaintance with it," Methos acknowledged dryly. 

Amanda took his hand and tugged at him, pulling him towards the open door. "Come on, Methos," she insisted, "let's talk about this inside, where it's warm." 

Methos allowed himself to be led through the door, excitement battling with hesitancy as his stomach tightened. There was an immediate need to back off from the situation, to make sure his head was at least one of the organs involved in this affair. There were possible risks here that should be considered—angles like a faceted diamond that must be studied before the first blow is struck. 

He hadn't let himself dwell much on his attraction to Duncan. In these relatively easy days of floating through time without regard for the speed of the current, it had been the simplest choice just to let it ride. After all, a wealth of time is a wealth of opportunities, and it was entirely possible that a combination of the passing of years, the evolution of trust, and the inevitable human need to experiment might someday land him in the right place at the right time. 

He hadn't dwelled on it; and yet Amanda knew. The tingles of excitement muted somewhat at the thought that he had somehow offered up pieces of himself without meaning to. That would be bad. 

"Amanda—wait a minute," he said, twisting himself out of her grip, "I didn't think I was that obvious. Does Mac have any idea?" 

Amanda scoffed, smoothing her tangled brown locks. "Mac wouldn't twig unless you walked up to him wearing a sandwich board that said 'I want to get wildly fucked by Duncan MacLeod'. Even then it might slip by him—you'd be amazed at the level of ignorance our boy can attain when he tries." 

Methos smiled again. He couldn't help it—she was irresistible. "So let me see if I've got this right," he said, "you want me to try and pull an ignorant, heterosexual prude, and you want to watch?" 

Amanda stepped close to him again, and Methos' senses sparked at the yielding warmth of her body, the subtle musk of perfume and woman, and the certainty that she was naked under Duncan's soft robe. He almost growled. 

"I don't _just_ want to watch, Methos," she said, one of her hands tickling gently over his hair, "I'd feel horribly left out." 

"Oh, well, we can't have that now, can we?" His voice was casual, teasing even, but his body didn't feel casual at all. Such licentious promise in her eyes... it had been a very long time since he'd been with anyone, and although his mind was happy to traipse along for years between the rare partners he found who fulfilled his requirements, his body insisted that it was about damn time. 

Now he let himself go just a little bit, let physical desire overwhelm him as he enfolded Amanda's smaller form, pulling her lips to his own while he slid his thigh between her open legs. He kissed her deeply, languorously, and very, very slowly; gripping her hips to move her more firmly against him. Her mouth was sweet—a wet, open flower that melted under his tongue. He felt her shiver. The hips in his hands arched towards him, and he smiled as he gently released her. 

Amanda's eyes sparkled with warm brilliance, a heat echoed by her flushed cheeks. "Jesus, Methos," she gasped, one hand pressed to her chest, "forget Duncan—let's go to your place." 

Methos laughed, and reached out slowly to brush unruly hair back from her brow. "Oh no, Amanda," he said softly, enjoying the heat which loosened his limbs and curled lazily through his insistent erection, "I want you both. Now, don't you think you should tell me your brilliant plan for getting our mutual friend to go along with us?" 

Amanda sighed, wrapped her arms around herself and bounced with impatience. He smiled again. "I don't think we need a plan," she said disgustedly, "I think I should just hold him down while you kiss him once, and that should do it." 

Methos raised his eyebrows. "While that idea is not wholly without merit, I think we'd better come up with something a bit more subtle, don't you?" 

Amanda grinned back at him, her counterfeit pique fading. "Okay Methos—listen up. I'm going to go change, and you're going to start cooking. There's sole marinating in the fridge; make a salad, warm the bread—you know the drill." 

His smile faded abruptly. "I see. This wasn't about you wanting to have me play with your boyfriend—you just wanted an excuse to give me orders." 

Amanda immediately went sultry on him. "I haven't even started," she promised, and kissed him softly on the lips. Before he could think of a suitable retort she had gathered up an overnight bag from the floor and disappeared into the bathroom. 

Methos took his coat off and flung it onto a chair before obediently heading for the kitchen, grinning at his own foolishness when he found himself whistling. 

* * *

By the time Amanda was ready Methos had followed most of her directions, and was languidly chopping various things into a salad while he savored his second beer. 

He looked up when the bathroom door opened. It had been on his mind to tell her that there hadn't been anything wrong with the way she was when she went in—the robe had been cute in a gamine sort of way. His words stopped as she walked towards him, away from the clouds of steam that had obscured her. Simply put, she looked beautiful, and very elegant, and quite enchantingly dangerous. Her hair was caught in a gold clasp, her body draped in a black velvet dress that left little to the imagination. 

Methos paused with a red pepper in one hand and a knife in the other, taking her in from her sweetly repainted lips to her black peau de soie pumps. He whistled appreciatively. "He's going to kick me out as soon as he sees you, you know." 

"No, he's not," Amanda contradicted tartly as she went to the wine rack, "because you're going to be _so_ charming, and I'm going to be _so_ insistent that you stay." 

It took a moment for the implications of that to sink in. When it did, Methos almost choked on a mouthful of cucumber. "That's your big plan?" he gargled credulously, "you tell him you want me to stay, and he's supposed to go for it?" Only Amanda would think that she could controvert four hundred years of ingrained behavior by being pushy. 

Amanda patted his hand gently as she hunted for a corkscrew. "Don't make a fuss, Methos—you forget, I have centuries of experience at making him do exactly what I want." 

Methos sighed and shook his head, but Amanda kept batting her eyes at him and nudging him until he gave it up and smiled, patting her ass encouragingly. If it worked, it worked. If it didn't—well, he could probably convince her to take the blame for the idea—it wasn't in Duncan's nature to hold something like this against her. Especially in that dress. "I look forward to seeing you in action." 

Amanda's brows went up. "I'll bet." 

They shared a laugh before settling back to work, and there was a brief but companionable silence. Methos found himself enjoying the simple pleasure of sharing domestic labor with someone; he watched her surreptitiously from beneath lowered lashes as she set the table, poured wine and lit candles, appraising the way she moved sinuously to the soft music she'd chosen. 

It seemed almost as if he could perceive her age and experience in the gentle progression of her unconscious grace, a manifestation of sensual hedonism that boded well. Excitement was undeniable, despite his doubts that this would actually work—and his doubts were considerable. He pressed his lips together to keep in the inevitable reservations. Sometimes it seemed that his mind was more of an enemy than an ally. Not often, but...sometimes. 

Soon everything was ready, although there had been some delay in having to produce enough side dishes to make up for the original two- person menu. Amanda took a last critical look at the table and then turned toward him, carelessly flinging away the dishcloth she'd been using as she moved close and snuggled into his chest. 

"Now," she said huskily, "Duncan has five minutes to get here before I forget the whole thing and take you to bed all by myself. You have a wonderful neck, Methos; have I told you that?" 

Methos shivered as her fingernails traced over his sensitive throat. Her scent was exquisite; expensive perfume over the subtle musk of arousal. Despite her shower it seemed that he could smell Duncan on her skin—if he gave in now and explored the secret hollows of her body, he knew he would be able to find that scent, track it down to its source... 

Regretfully he took her hands away, holding them gently in his own. 

"Not too much of that, if you please," he chided softly, amazed at the steadiness in his voice, "I've been on short rations for a long time, and you're offering me a feast." 

Amanda's intrigued eyes looked deeply into his. "Really?" she drawled, "How long a time are we talking about?" 

Brazen tart. 

He slid his grip to her wrists before clamping down, levering her arms behind her and using them to pull her hard against his renewed erection. "I haven't forgotten anything, if that's what you want to know," he growled into her ear. 

The pull was undeniable. Even as he told himself not to start something that could possibly be interrupted before he could finish it, his mouth descended, drawn. A brief pause for breath and then he bit and savored the satin skin of her neck, giving in, giving over; dimly hearing her eager gasp as he ground his throbbing, constricted cock against the tender swell of her groin. 

Amanda went limp in his arms, but her voice had nothing of surrender in it. "Okay, Methos—that's it. Get those clothes off and..." 

She trailed off as both of them looked up, caught by the sudden wave of Immortal presence. 

"Oh boy," Methos breathed. 

"Raincheck," Amanda whispered, sliding out of his arms. 

Methos grimaced as a moment of panic tightened his breath, willing himself to relax. At least the sudden rush of adrenaline had helped reduce the tension in one particular part of his anatomy—it would have been very odd to greet Duncan while sporting a tent. He reached into his jeans to adjust his aching organ. 

"Methos!" Amanda hissed, sotto voce, "Not yet—let me talk to him first!" 

Duncan entered the room on the warm wave of their laughter. 

* * *

It was a wonderful meal. No matter what happened after, Methos thought, the evening had been a success. Duncan had evidenced a certain reluctance to eat until Amanda swore that Methos had cooked, at which point he sat down gladly. Wine, stories and humor then flowed freely, and the three of them ate until the dishes were scraped clean. 

Methos enjoyed everything; the companionship, the warmth, and the smoky, knowing glances that Amanda sent him every time Duncan's attention was elsewhere. She really was delightfully deviant—it wasn't often that he met someone who took as much pleasure as he did in beguiling virtuous innocents. 

Duncan was perfect as the unsullied lamb between two wolves; sweetly lecherous with Amanda, bantering good-naturedly with Methos, and completely oblivious of the sinister forces plotting his ruin through amiable smiles. 

The food was long gone, and now the wine went the same way as Duncan poured the last of the second bottle equally between three raised glasses. 

"This was a wonderful surprise," Duncan said earnestly, tipping his glass to Methos. "Again—my compliments to the chef." 

Methos could feel it coming, the polite hint that he should make himself scarce. Before he could even look at Amanda she took care of it; pulling gently at Duncan's wineglass and leaning toward him to display a generous amount of cleavage. 

"Duncan, will you make us some coffee? I'd really love some right now." 

Methos suppressed a grin. Perhaps this would work after all-Duncan seemed utterly susceptible to Amanda's manipulations—not that Methos could blame him. He watched in amusement as Duncan wobbled, starry-eyed and obedient, into the kitchen, and then followed Amanda's insistent grip on his hand as she pulled him towards the couch. 

They sat cozily side by side, and Methos found himself wavering between two strange extremes of arousal and absurdity. Duncan was still in the kitchen making a racket with the coffeepot when Amanda grazed him under the cover of a giggle; her whisper soft thunder in his ear. 

"When I cue you, go to the bathroom." 

He rolled his eyes at her, about to make a crack regarding Morse code when she smiled, crossed her legs high, and drew his hand briefly over the tops of her black stockings. 

Nice. Very nice. Methos was wondering what sort of revenge he should take when Duncan arrived. 

"Coffee's brewing," Duncan said apologetically, lowering himself onto the couch on the other side of Amanda. Methos hadn't noticed exactly when she'd lowered her skirt, but there was no impropriety evident when Duncan leaned toward them, taking Amanda's hand. 

"So," Duncan asked, his eyes bright and so warm that Methos felt the weight of his gaze, "what are you two talking about?" 

"I was just saying that it's too bad that Methos didn't have a date for this little get-together," Amanda replied vivaciously, "we could have gone to a film, or something." 

"There's nothing wrong with just the three of us, Amanda," Duncan said, almost chiding her. Methos bit his lips. 

"Yes, I know, but—it makes me wonder—" she turned toward him, for all the world the picture of solicitous curiosity. "Do you have anyone special right now, Methos?" 

His face heated as he blushed—that was good, very convincing—too bad Duncan would never know that he was blushing at Amanda's shameless tactics. As it was, he played the part, looking away from them slightly. "Not right now," he said softly, "I'm too picky." 

Duncan, always alive to a possible sensitivity, of course tried to rescue him. "Amanda," he said testily, "just because Methos doesn't currently have a girlfriend—" 

"Or a boyfriend?" Amanda interrupted brightly, turning towards Methos. Over her shoulder he saw Duncan's mouth flap open in shock. 

"No," Methos replied blandly with just the smallest trace of regret, "no boyfriend either." He sighed a bit. Oh—this was just too much fun—he'd be laughing about this one for decades... 

Now Amanda turned to Duncan, and Methos marveled at her self- control as she sighed in frustration that would have convinced a polygraph. 

"Mac, you're catching flies," she remarked dryly. 

Duncan closed his mouth with a snap. His eyes were much wider and less warm than they had been, but Methos didn't find them any less appealing. 

"What's your problem, Duncan?" Amanda continued, suitably demanding, "Is there something wrong with the idea of Methos having a boyfriend?" 

Methos thought he could get used to this. Watching Duncan MacLeod squirm in agony was quite pleasant in its own way. 

"No!" Duncan insisted too quickly and too loudly, all the while staring at Methos as if he'd sprouted horns. "Of course not!" 

Amanda brightened. "Oh good. For a moment there I thought you were going to go all Victorian on me." 

Methos was enjoying this immensely, enough so that he actually regretted it when Amanda gave him his cue, her warm thigh squeezed purposefully yet subtly against his knee. 

He stood, finding it harder than he'd expected to look demure. "Excuse me," he said quietly. "Mac—may I use your bathroom?" 

He stole a quick glance at the Highlander, tickled by the combined look of confusion, wariness and feigned nonchalance that blended so uneasily on normally placid features. 

"Of course!" Duncan said too heartily. Methos turned away quickly before his own grin of merriment could spoil the mood—MacLeod had been sophisticated enough to stop himself from saying 'of course any _bisexual_ friend of mine can use my bathroom', but Methos guessed that it had been a near thing. 

He mumbled his thanks as he strolled away, and managed to wait until he was behind the closed door with the tap running before he broke into satisfied chuckles. At least this wouldn't be a _dull_ evening, he reflected giddily. 

Little by little he forced himself into a more sober mood, turning his thoughts to the question of whether Amanda would be able to pull this off. He hoped so—he'd spoken the truth to her when he'd said that he wanted them both. 

They were both very appealing to him; Amanda wild and uninhibited and lovely, Duncan more reserved but full of hints about the passion that might lie buried deep within that splendid and disciplined body. Overcoming those reservations, that captivating hesitancy... was there any game more worth playing? 

His mind suddenly contributed an image of himself as the filling in a Duncan/Amanda sandwich, and he smiled. It could be good. It could, in fact, possibly be spectacular. 

He sat for a moment on the closed lid of the toilet, pushing such tantalizing thoughts aside. It would never do to be overeager. He shut his eyes. 

Adam Pierson. Harmless, bashful Adam. There he was, behind Methos' closed eyes in all his gormless grad-student splendor. Who could possibly be afraid of such a sweet, self-effacing geek? 

When his raging erection had subsided and it seemed that a decent interval had passed, Methos washed his hands and tried to quell the flutters of excitement that shivered in his stomach. He opened the door and walked into the main room, hoping for the best, his face a study in innocence. 

* * *

Methos was impressed—Amanda must be very good indeed. Duncan looked both terrified and determined, his cheeks glowed deep rose beneath clear olive skin. Beautiful. 

They'd both turned towards him as soon as he entered, standing tete-a- tete next to the couch. Methos offered what he hoped was a friendly and nonthreatening smile, coaxing a nervous grin from Duncan. 

"Well folks," Methos began, heading for his abandoned coat, "I'm sure you have a full agenda for the evening, so I'll just wish you—" 

"Uh... Methos," Duncan interrupted. Methos paused, pretending not to notice Amanda's elbow sunk deep into the Highlander's ribs. "Before you go, I... um, Amanda... I mean, we..." 

Methos stopped moving, carefully gauging the balance between wide- eyed innocence and polite curiosity. 

Duncan swallowed and lowered his eyes, and Methos' gaze flashed to Amanda. She was on the edge of laughter, clamping her lips together, and Methos looked away quickly before her barely repressed mirth could ignite his own. His stomach hurt, actually hurt from trying to hold it in. 

"We were wondering," Duncan continued nervously, "if you might like to stay with us tonight." 

Methos wasn't about to make it easy—this was too perfect. He maintained his open expression. "Sure," he mumbled meekly, "I'll take the couch, if you're certain I wouldn't be intruding..." 

Duncan looked at Amanda in an apparent panic, and Methos realized that Mac had gone as far as he was willing to go. Methos opened his mouth to rescue the situation before it could deteriorate totally, but before he could speak Amanda rose to the occasion, moving towards him with feline grace. 

As soon as her back was to Duncan she favored Methos with a look that would have had him drawn and quartered, if looks could maim. His mouth twitched. He couldn't help it. 

"No, Methos," she said seductively, her soft voice in stark contrast with the malice in her eyes, "he means stay with us—with both of us." Her hand rested gently on his arm, but Methos felt each fingernail poised for assault, and figured he'd better abandon his babe in the woods act before it got him into mortal danger. 

Methos went for the Oscar. He paused for a beat of time, allowing the penny to drop before he turned to Duncan. All hesitation and uncertainty, he almost wished it wasn't quite this much fun. 

"Mac—I didn't know you... that you were so inclined," he finished shyly. 

Duncan had turned a lovely shade of red. "Well," he said, aiming for a worldly tone that spoke volumes about his lack of experience, "I don't really know if I am or not." His voice wobbled on the last syllable, and he stopped to clear his throat. "It's been a long time." 

Methos was enchanted. He wondered briefly what fumbling boyhood experiences Mac was drawing on, and determined to weasel it out of him later, if all went according to plan. 

"Well then," Methos said calmly, slipping one arm companionably around Amanda's waist, "how can I decline such a gracious offer from two such kind hosts?" 

"Don't feel obligated, Methos," Duncan said desperately. Methos struggled with a wild burst of laughter. "We don't want you to do anything you'd rather not..." 

"Get over here, Duncan," Amanda snapped, holding her hand out insistently. Damn, she was good. 

Duncan smiled nervously. "Yes, okay," he said, not budging an inch. A pause, and then Methos heard Amanda's impatient sigh. "Well, um..." Duncan continued slowly, "I've been running, and I need a shower. Why don't you two get settled, and I'll be right back?" 

Duncan didn't wait for their response, but headed for the bathroom without another glance, closing the door behind him. 

Methos leaned into the curve of Amanda's neck, shaking with stifled laughter. They held each other up for a few moments, perfect partners in crime. When the giggles dried up Methos pulled away, smiling at her and tweaking her nose playfully. "I don't believe you got him to do that," he whispered, conspiratorially, "now if we can only stop him from dying of heart failure before we get started..." 

"He'll relax eventually," Amanda insisted staunchly, "as soon as he gets over the fact that he's attracted to you." 

Methos looked at her; the urge to laugh evaporated by a sudden rush of heat and intrigue. "Oh yes," she continued, "he is. He just doesn't know how to deal with it yet." 

Methos felt absurdly pleased. He took her hand and placed a gentle, lingering kiss on the palm. "So, my Sublime Queen of Manipulators, what should we do to relax him?" 

Amanda thought a moment, and her lips pouted prettily, tempting him to kiss her again. Soon enough, he promised himself. If he got her started again... 

"How are you at massage?" she asked, taking his hands and pulling them towards her breasts, "I'll bet you're good with your hands—" 

He gave her a brief squeeze, relishing warm, velvet-covered curves, then wiggled his fingers in front of her. "Give me some oil and clear the decks, woman," he said commandingly, "if I can't make him comfortable I can at least make him slippery and limp." 

Amanda elbowed him hard. "Damn it, Methos," she whispered, sputtering, "don't make me laugh! He'll think we're plotting something!" 

* * *

The scene was nicely set before Duncan returned. There was low, torchy music on the stereo—Methos had offered to run out to buy a copy of the three-hour extended mix of 'Love to Love you, Baby' and a ceiling mirror, but Amanda only thwacked him soundly with the pillow she was fluffing. Candles were lit, the bed turned down invitingly, all in all a charming place for a seduction, Methos thought. 

He was debating whether or not to open another bottle of wine when a warm body pressed insistently against his back and two small hands slid around his waist, driving all thoughts of Montrachet from his mind. 

"Mmm," Amanda purred as her hands burrowed under his sweater to stroke his chest, "I feel like it's my birthday and Christmas all rolled into one." 

He turned to face her. Her eyes were wide and liquid, her lips invitingly open; sweetly impatient. He ran gentle fingertips from her throat to her cleavage, surreptitiously opening the top button of her dress. "We'd better unwrap you then," he joked quietly. Buttons opened obediently for his nimble fingers, and within moments her dress fell away with a velvet rustle. 

"How much do you think we should... um, take off?" he whispered, sliding his fingers under the thin straps of her camisole. 

Amanda shivered. "Personally, Methos, I don't think you should be wearing anything but sweat and a smile, but I think our boy might find that a bit of a challenge." They shared another moment of hushed laughter, and Methos kissed the top of her head fondly as she started to tug at his sweater. 

They undressed each other slowly, teasingly, and by the time the bathroom door opened with a cloud of steam both of them were on the bed. Methos, after a tug-of-war in which he'd had to resort to dirty tricks, had managed to retain his boxer shorts; but evidently Amanda had forgiven him—she acceded to his request, and kept her garter stockings and pumps on. 

Duncan emerged from the bathroom with a towel wrapped securely around his waist; damp hair combed back to a seal-shiny pelt. He examined the room curiously before approaching them with a tight smile. 

Methos smiled in return, a genuine but wasted effort—Mac's eyes skipped away from him, focusing instead on Amanda. 

"Hi," Duncan said softly, unconsciously emphasizing his musculature by running his hands over his own wet hair. 

Methos felt the back of his neck prickle, a tingling rush of energy that warmed him. "Hi," he returned amiably, "welcome back." 

"Lay down," Amanda coaxed, patting the empty space beside her. 

Duncan stretched out next to them, one hand locked around his towel as if it might fly off. Methos bit his lips to stifle a grin. 

Amanda, bless her hedonistic soul, was more than equal to the task of breaking the ice. As soon as Duncan was settled she grabbed his face, pulling him down and into a kiss. Duncan made a muffled noise of surprise but no real protest, and his hand came to rest on her bare waist. 

Methos watched them kiss, and felt himself begin to stir as he placed a hand on Amanda's slightly hollowed stomach. He slid upwards, tracing a gentle line until his hand covered Duncan's. MacLeod stiffened at Methos' touch, but Amanda had the Highlander's head in a deathgrip, and after a few moments of tension, he relaxed. 

Methos sampled the texture of warm, still-damp skin, brushing his fingertips over the fine hairs of the other man's forearm, noting the goosebumps that immediately raised on the darker flesh. He explored the curves of Duncan's muscular shoulder before slipping upward behind the other man's neck, tingling again as silky strands of hair delighted his fingers. 

Against his side Amanda began to writhe with arousal, and the tidal shifting of her body increased his own desire. He stroked down Duncan's arm until he had the other man's hand in his own, pulling gently, leading their joined hands downward between Amanda's trembling legs. 

Duncan's gasp was barely audible under Amanda's groan, and Methos felt an erotic convulsion shake his own system as he slid his and Duncan's fingers through deliciously wet female flesh. The other man pulled away from Amanda's suddenly weakened grip, and Methos found himself meeting smoldering, chocolate-brown eyes. 

"You seem to know what you're doing," Duncan said with a trace of uncertainty. 

"I've been around the block a time or two," Methos remarked dryly, knowing that the time for sham innocence had passed. Duncan was here, in bed; no signs of running away except the new fear in his eyes. Methos saw the hunger behind it, however; desire that waited only for the right circumstances to call it forth—a tale told in a silent language, a story Methos knew well in a dialect he spoke fluently. 

"Feel how much she wants you," he said softly, moving the other man's fingers lower, "she's so wet, Duncan, she's just dripping—feel how her body pulls at you, shaking with the pleasure you're giving her." Amanda sighed deeply, her hips lifting towards their joined hands. 

Duncan licked his lips nervously, but the heat in his eyes flared in contradiction. "You're talking about her as if she isn't here," he said hesitantly. 

"We both know she's here," Methos said gently, turning his head toward Amanda. "Everything all right, love?" 

"Oh my God," Amanda managed, her head arched back to expose her delicate neck. Methos smiled, and lowered himself to her nipple. 

Her breasts were small and lovely, and Methos savored the one closest to him, using his teeth with gentle pressure and the friction of his tongue until he felt her entire body arch in response. From the corner of his eye he saw MacLeod following his example, both of them immediately rewarded by Amanda's cries of pleasure. 

Methos was achingly erect now; his cock painfully neglected as he lavished Amanda with every caress that might please her. He felt Duncan's fingers beneath his own, pumping smoothly in and out of her drenched body while Methos slowly stroked her clitoris. Despite the leisurely pace he knew Amanda would come soon; her muscles fluttered spasmodically, and her hips were doing all sorts of limber gyrations in an attempt to have more of them. 

Methos raised his head a little and looked briefly at Amanda, but she was utterly lost, her brows drawn together in passion as her head tossed on the pillow. He turned to Duncan, equally lost in tracing her rosy nipple with the tip of his tongue, locks of clean hair nearly obscuring his face. Time for the next step. He took a deep breath. 

"Duncan," he said softly. 

As soon as Mac lifted from Amanda's breast Methos leaned forward and took his mouth, pressing against him with a demanding, needy, openmouthed kiss. 

Methos nearly lost his own tongue as Duncan drew in a sharp gasp and twitched galvanically. He felt the sudden pressure as Duncan plunged violently into Amanda's sheath, stimulation that in turn pushed her finally over the edge. 

Methos felt her orgasm deepen his own hunger, burning him—she cried out their names in ecstasy as they kissed above her heaving body, their joined hands buried in throbbing wetness. Duncan's lips opened fully to him for just a moment, and Methos reveled in the slick softness of the other man's mouth, enjoying the faint abrasion of stubble against his own sensitive skin. He moaned, and Duncan gasped again. 

It all seemed to be over far too soon, and Methos forced himself to back away. One last shiver below, and then he pulled his fingers gently from between Amanda's quiescent thighs. 

Duncan stared at him with a combined look of trepidation and lust, and Methos smiled gently. 

"Well," Methos breathed, "at least that's taken the edge off for _her_." 

Duncan actually smiled back at him, one eyebrow lifted quizzically. "You obviously don't know Amanda very well," he muttered. 

"What—" 

That was as far as Methos got before two strong hands latched onto his arms, and before he knew it he was flat on his back with a desperate and _extremely_ aroused woman pinning him to the bed. 

"Get inside me before I kill you," Amanda hissed, straddling one of his thighs moistly as she yanked at his boxers. 

"Hey—okay—wait...Ow!" it occurred to him that he probably should have anticipated this. 

Methos had purchased sensible, sturdy cotton boxer shorts, but they lasted maybe three seconds under Amanda's assault. He surrendered before she could start tearing into the rest of him, took her hips firmly in his hands and guided her onto his erect shaft. 

Amanda moaned loudly as she sank down onto him, and Methos echoed her as he felt himself buried in slick wet heat. She shivered vibrantly, alive to his touch; opening, responding, answering every caress as she moved smoothly over him. Methos bit his lip and just let her use him as she wished—her demands increased in violence and urgency, sweeping over any resistance he might have made. 

Not that he would resist her at this point. He wasn't stupid. 

Feeling almost as if he were being mauled by a force of nature, Methos tried to steady his breathing, to bring his body into some semblance of control. Excruciating pleasure was all very well and good, but if he came before she finished she would probably kill him. 

He turned his head and saw Mac watching them avidly; his eyes wide and hot as he knelt beside them. Methos saw that he'd lost the towel, and that his cock was standing rigidly up from a dark forest of curls, a thick erection ridged with veins, crowned over the foreskin by a smooth, purple head that made Methos' mouth water. 

"Duncan," Methos gasped, his shoulders aching as Amanda sank her nails into him, "don't just sit there and watch—help me!" 

"Right—sorry," Duncan said apologetically, shaking his head as if shaking off a dream, "it's just that I've never just watched her..." 

"Come on, Duncan," Amanda gasped, leaning forward over Methos' body, "I want both of you..." 

Methos shivered when he felt Duncan's weight settle onto his lower thighs behind Amanda. The silky moistness around him was incredibly tempting, and he had to struggle to remain still as the massage oil was fumbled for, found, handed, poured and used. 

Methos found himself staring into two pairs of overheated eyes, trying not to move, trying not to groan with pleasure, trying not to explode. Amanda had pulled almost completely away from him, and over her shoulder Duncan winced with evident discomfort. 

"I don't want to hurt you," Duncan managed. Methos could see the effort the other man was making to go slowly, but it was surely, positively going to drive him mad... 

"That doesn't hurt!" Amanda insisted frantically. Methos would have applauded her if he hadn't been otherwise occupied. 

The tip of his cock was squeezed ruthlessly as both men tried to find room within her body; every sense attuned to an incredible detail of sensation—he felt every throb of Duncan pulsing against him as they worked their way slowly inside her. The two of them shared the welcome responsibility of supporting Amanda, her muscles gone lax as she was overwhelmed with either pain or pleasure. 

Soon Methos was completely sheathed in exquisite tightness; his shaft pounded with constricted blood as it rubbed minutely against Duncan's through the fragile wall that separated them. Amanda moaned repeatedly as Methos stroked her shivering thighs, her face beautifully abandoned, utterly lost. 

Over her shoulder Methos saw Duncan bite his lower lip. Poor boy. To be so checked by consideration, so completely caught by the demand to stay in control of everything... 

"Duncan," he whispered, just loud enough to be heard over Amanda, "it's up to you now. Can you feel me, pushing against you?" 

"Yes," Duncan gasped, shaking long hair back from his eyes; "I don't want to hurt her." 

Methos reached lower, and his hands found a grip on the other man's straining, muscular thighs. "You won't," he assured quietly, teasing the dark skin under his fingers, "take her, Duncan—take both of us. Show us what you can do." 

"Methos..." it wasn't a question or a protest; simply a statement. It warmed him, thrilled him; it told him that Duncan was aware of this moment, alive to the closeness they shared as Duncan began to move, stroking his cock with each gentle thrust. 

"Yes," Methos responded, his body arching under the delirious pleasure, "I feel you." 

He certainly did. Duncan moved faster, causing waves of heat that spiraled from deep within to tingle through every nerve. It was almost enough...it was definitely too much...it was so bloody perfect... 

Methos released one of Duncan's thighs and slid his hand around to dip his thumb into the well of sleek moisture between her legs, starting a firm massage of her lovely, swollen flesh. She responded immediately; her moans took on a desperate edge as she struggled to open herself further, to give him greater access. 

A few more gentle strokes and Amanda came, so softly and vulnerably that it made Methos' heart pound. He watched with undiminished hunger as Duncan pressed deep and held her while she cried out, dark arms wrapped firmly around her shuddering, twisting body. Methos groaned as her internal muscles rippled over him like some kind of tangible melody, engulfing him, pressing his aching cock even harder against Duncan's. 

There was a brief pause; a moment when he and Mac simply basked in Amanda's cresting pleasure. Then she moved again, her hips rocking back and forth with renewed demand. 

"Again," she gasped, one hand groping backwards to caress Duncan, the other scratching a burning path down Methos' chest, "please—yes..." 

"Give her what she wants, Duncan," Methos panted as he felt her need blend seamlessly with his own, "let it go..." 

Duncan's face was tight with restraint, and he shook his head. "No—" he murmured. 

"Yes!" Methos and Amanda chorused, a harmony of demand. Methos shifted and pulled her hips down hard, tilting her, spreading her further open for Duncan's cock. 

With a desperate groan Duncan obeyed their joint imperative; his hands tangled fiercely with Methos' around Amanda's hips as he thrust hard into her. Amanda repeated the affirmative over and over as Duncan took her, her body squeezing Methos repeatedly as she climaxed. Methos couldn't say anything—he could only express the extremity of animal desire in low, guttural moans; moving closer, moving up, lifting with all his strength into hot, tight, wet welcome. 

Methos slid relentlessly deeper as Amanda shuddered around him; Duncan shoved against him; wonderfully ruthless, wonderfully demanding—finally... oh yes... 

He struggled for control until he felt Duncan swelling, stretching the delicate skin that surrounded them to the utmost limit, pulses as hard and fierce as the beat of a drum. With a sudden moment of dizzying intensity Methos realized that Duncan was looking deeply into his eyes, groaning with ecstasy, watching him over Amanda's shoulder as she sobbed. Methos felt every spasm of the other man's passion as much as his own; his heart thundered in his chest as Duncan throbbed against him, coming with him, joined to him through the tender medium of Amanda's body. 

By slow degrees Amanda slumped forward onto Methos' chest. Both men supported her, lowering her gently. She was terrifically hot and drenched with sweat, but Methos embraced her gratefully nonetheless; held her with one arm while his other hand caressed Duncan's thigh— soothing, comforting, holding both of them as close as he could. 

Cold air iced his lower body as Duncan pulled slowly away, and Amanda shivered slightly in his embrace as they both slipped out of her. Duncan stretched out beside them, and leaned close to Amanda's face to stroke her hair. 

"That was incredible," Duncan murmured. 

"Amazing," Methos contributed, panting. 

"Humph," was all Amanda could manage. 

* * *

Time stretched out, each elongated moment pausing in an endless swell of peace. Methos sighed, happy to drift through this interlude without the accustomed clamor of his thoughts. He and Duncan took turns cuddling Amanda while heartbeats and respiration slowed, and Methos relished the damp skin that pressed his own as sweat slowly dried in the cool air. 

Amanda returned to his lips again and again; her mouth flavored with the salty tang of Duncan. Methos tasted her deeply, passion transformed for now into a quiet sharing of tenderness. He knew that Duncan watched them kiss, and he wondered briefly about jealousy now that the three of them weren't insane with lust, but apparently the Highlander had adjusted nicely to the idea of sharing his toys. He smiled at the thought, and Amanda bit his nose softly. 

Finally she moved away from both of them, turning to kneel on the bed while she stretched languorously and sighed. 

"Shower," she said firmly, her nose wrinkling, "I think we all need one." 

Methos echoed her sigh, catching her playful tone as if it were infectious, and sat up. "We stink, therefore we bathe," he said unnecessarily; and reached out to rumple her tangled hair. 

Amanda frowned at him, shaking her head. "You ought to be flogged," she murmured derisively, slapping his hand away. Irresistibly cute. 

He smiled, benign. "Humor is what separates us from the rest of the beasts," he insisted. 

She couldn't defy him for long, and a grudging smirk finally surfaced. "Oh yeah?" she retorted, "Well, _your_ humor is what separates you from anyone who has tact, taste, or decency." She drove her point home with one finger, poking him in the ribs. 

An act of war. Methos tackled her, and subdued her quickly amidst the rumpled bedclothes. He was about to make a comment about people who preached decency immediately after what must have been at least ten orgasms, when he caught MacLeod's face out of the corner of his eye. Duncan's features were grim and tense with disapproval, and his body looked absolutely rigid. Hmm... Maybe jealousy wasn't unknown here after all... 

"Hey," Methos said to him softly, "don't mind us, we're just playing around." 

"I can see that," Duncan said curtly, moving to his feet in one smooth motion. "I'll be in the shower." 

Methos didn't stop him. If the Highlander needed time, well—time was something all three of them had plenty of, after all. Amanda sighed as Duncan disappeared, and leaned her head against Methos' arm. 

"Oh jeez," she muttered, "not another spasm of MacLeodian angst—just when I was feeling so good..." 

Methos patted her shoulder. "He's young," he said consolingly. 

Amanda raised her head, frowning again. "He's a weenie," she snarled. 

Methos wiggled his eyebrows at her. "A really _big_ weenie," he murmured with exaggerated awe, "a _really big weenie_ , Amanda!" 

She laughed with him then, slumped bonelessly against him as she chuckled. He held her close, breathing in her scent—truly staggering after their recent experience—and felt his penis stir in response. She was so warm and pliant in his arms, and smelled so much like a woman who'd just been thoroughly ploughed by two men... 

Amanda was immediately aware of his arousal. Her giggles tapered off quickly as she snuggled against him, and her cool, adroit fingers circled his stiffening shaft. Methos clenched his teeth with effort, and moved her gently away. 

"In the shower, Amanda—now!" he insisted, rising to his feet, "Duncan would never forgive us if we started without him." 

Amanda crossed her arms and tried to wither him with a glare. "Oh— fuck Duncan!" she said petulantly. 

"Don't mind if I do," Methos retorted, ignoring her giggles as he dragged her towards the bathroom. 

* * *

Duncan maintained his icy, distant behavior for about thirty seconds before he got caught up in Amanda's infectious playfulness. The Highlander's tense pout relaxed into a smile; a gentle, uninhibited smile that Methos had never seen on him before. 

Within three minutes Amanda had won Duncan over completely, and now she berated him soundly for the lack of forethought that had resulted in having a shower that could barely fit three people. 

In keeping with her reputation as a woman who took advantage of opportunities when they presented themselves, Amanda kept snapping Duncan's buttocks with a wet washcloth every time his back was turned, blaming it on Methos. In retaliation the two men ganged up on her; and Duncan restrained her from behind while Methos tickled her mercilessly. 

Amanda was drenched and shrieking in Duncan's arms, and despite the light mood of the moment Methos felt something dark and appealing stir through him at the sight. The two of them presented a beautiful picture of demand and unwilling submission; locked in struggle under cascading water. 

Methos stopped tickling and moved his hands from Amanda's ribs to her breasts; an unexpected, urgent caress that stopped her in mid- shriek. His cock stiffened. 

Abruptly, Duncan looked up into Methos' eyes. Methos watched the Highlander's grin fade away as he stepped close to both of them, his face only centimeters from Duncan's as he crushed Amanda between them. 

"You really want to make her pay?" he asked suggestively. There was no sound from Amanda, even though his hands were rough and insistent on the tender weight of her breasts as he looked at MacLeod in blatant challenge. 

Duncan looked lost. "What?" he asked uncertainly. 

Methos kept their gazes locked as squeezed slowly downward from breast to thigh. Amanda gasped. "We really should punish her," he murmured calmly, sliding one hand up and inwards to cup her groin. Satin flesh shivered under his touch. "Hold her for me—will you, Duncan?" 

Duncan's nervousness was apparent and immediate; his cheeks flushed as he looked down at Amanda in response to her sudden, violent moan. "What are you—you're not going to hurt her..." 

"I'm not," Methos assured him, brushing Amanda with the lightest of touches against her delicate vulva, making her twist in Duncan's grasp, "I'm just going to make her pay for being such a hot, teasing little strumpet, Mac, and I want you to make sure she can't get away..." 

Duncan remained unconvinced. "I don't think—" 

Support arrived from an unexpected source as Amanda's head whipped upwards; water splashing all of them. "Don't think, Duncan—just do it!" she gasped. 

"Okay," Duncan said sullenly. Methos struggled not to smile; the Highlander looked as if he had just agreed to impromptu dental surgery. 

It was enough—grudging acquiescence was still acquiescence, after all. "Thank you," he said politely. Duncan didn't respond. Methos turned to Amanda, smiling gently at her. "What safeword do you want?" 

Amanda's eyes were luminous, inviting, deep with desire. "Paris," she said dreamily. 

He turned his grin to Duncan; hoping somehow to bridge the gap this new fear had opened between them. "If she says 'Paris', let her go. Anything else, just hold on. Okay?" 

Mac wouldn't look at him. Methos waited. Finally Duncan blinked water out of his eyes, and leaned down to Amanda. "You're sure about this?" 

Amanda leaned contentedly back against him, smiling into his concerned face. "Absolutely," she replied gently, "It's what I want." 

Methos allowed himself a faint smile. She was something, all right... 

Duncan shrugged as his hands tightened on her arms. "Okay then— whatever." 

Methos would have liked to kiss those pouting, unhappy lips; he didn't think Duncan could possibly maintain that frown while Methos sucked on his tongue... but now wasn't the time. He kissed Amanda instead, holding her chin while he pressed deeply into her mouth. He caught her lower lip in his teeth, and captured her groan of desire as he bit down. 

He ravished her mouth for a long, dizzy time, all the while refusing her body's demand for further stimulation. He still cupped her between the legs, but he only teased slightly, gliding through dripping water with feather touches. 

She panted for air when he finally released her lips. He paused for a moment, admiring the hectic patches of color that brightened her cheeks. 

"We've been very good to you—haven't we, Amanda?" he murmured seductively, one finger tracing her mouth. 

She shivered. "Yes," she sighed, "you've both been... so good to me—" 

"And you've been very wicked, haven't you?" he chided with mock sternness. 

"Awful—Evil—Very bad!" she agreed, writhing in Duncan's grasp. 

Adorable brat. 

"Shall I punish you for it?" he asked gently as his finger sloped down to tease one erect nipple in slow circles. 

"Oh ...I don't..." she breathed, arching into his touch. She sighed quietly, but that was all. 

Methos turned his attention to Duncan, and his body flushed warm with gratification and lust when he saw that grudging obedience had become desire. The Highlander's gaze was hot and unfocused, and his cherubic lips parted to allow quick, panting sips of air. Their eyes met. 

It was almost shockingly arousing, the connection between them, and Methos had to forcibly repress his own urges, reminding himself that right now both of them were devoted solely to the mastery and pleasure of the woman who squirmed between them. He smiled what he hoped was an encouraging smile, and then looked back at Amanda. 

"Can you feel him behind you, Amanda? Do you feel his cock pushing against you?" He pitched his voice low, just loud enough to fill the little world the three of them shared. 

Amanda sighed again. "Yes, I—oh yes..." 

"You want him, don't you?" Methos demanded. 

"I want him," she admitted, leaning backwards. 

Methos grinned evilly, capturing her eyes. "You can't have him. We're going to punish you first." 

Amanda whimpered, her head tossing in refusal, scattering droplets over all three of them. "Oh no," she protested, "no—no—no..." 

"Yes, Amanda; right now." He looked to Duncan. "Remember—Paris." 

Duncan nodded, his eyes nearly black, his hands tight on Amanda's arms. "I'm with you." 

Again Methos felt the urge to kiss him like thirst on his tongue, but refrained. Instead he sank to his knees on the floor of the shower, almost welcoming the discomfort of the hard porcelain as a distraction from the ache in his groin. He gripped Amanda's ankles firmly, pulling her legs open. 

Amanda uttered a very convincing cry of distress, heating Methos' blood further and eliciting a hiss from Duncan. "No—please," she moaned, "what are you going to..." 

Her body wrenched as Methos pressed his mouth to her center, the tip of his tongue barely dipping into her. Despite the flow of water she was slippery with arousal—musky, salty and sweet, a perfect seashell of woman. He growled with satisfaction. 

"No," she repeated as he licked slowly over the sleek bud of her clitoris, "no... oh yes... yes—please, don't stop..." 

He teased her unmercifully, flicking, tasting, smoothing; pulling away every time her hips thrust toward him. His grip on her ankles prevented her from wrapping her legs around his head, but he had to fight her on it. When she finally sobbed with frustration he switched tactics; and pressed deeply into her without moving at all. 

Amanda went wild, almost pulling free from both pairs of hands as she struggled desperately. She begged ceaselessly between frantic gasps for breath, interspersed with piteous moans of despair. Methos kept her trembling on the very edge of release, no quarter given as he calculated how much he thought she could take, always stopping just short of completion. 

The focused teasing made Methos' own desire bearable—he remained cool and distant, invulnerable to the demands of lust as he licked, sucked and nibbled on Amanda's tormented flesh. He'd promised punishment, and that was exactly what she'd get. 

Attuned to her with every sense, he heard Amanda turn her appeals to Duncan, telling him in graphic detail exactly how she would please him if he would only let her go. Over her stammered entreaties Methos heard the Highlander growling low in his throat—a wanton, carnal sound that jolted him with erotic longing. Enough already. 

Slowly Methos pulled back from Amanda, ignoring her cry of protest. "So tell me, love," he said calmly, looking up at her flushed face, "do you want to come now?" 

Water couldn't obscure the real tears that welled in her eyes, touching Methos with the sweetness of control. "Please," she sobbed, her whole body limp, "anything—I'll be so good to you..." 

Duncan's head appeared over her shoulder, fierce eyes burning with desire. Methos knew that look, although it was a shock to see it on Duncan's face. Power. Duncan blazed with it, and Methos nearly gasped aloud with helpless response. 

He released Amanda's ankles to stroke softly down her inner thighs, enjoying the resultant quiver. "You can come whenever Duncan gives you permission, Amanda," he said steadily. He didn't restrain her again. She was past the point of resistance. 

Instead he used his hands to spread her open, exposing delicate pink flesh dripping with water. He bent towards her again, soothing her fire, coaxing her surrender as water flowed over his cheeks. Her moans were quiet now, a plaintive sound like the cooing of doves. Soft; she was so soft and tender and inviting... 

Methos felt her flutter under his tongue, rhythmic pulses that pulled him deeper. He nuzzled into her, his tongue seeking the hot, slippery center of her being. 

When a strong hand pressed the back of his head, Methos looked up. Duncan held Amanda with only one arm; all her resistance turned to abandoned submission, and the Highlander's other hand caressed Methos, cradled the back of his neck to pull him firmly forward. 

Methos groaned, muffled by the tender flesh he devoured, his body on fire. Amanda was open—so open to him, and Duncan's hand demanded everything, sealing them together in bliss. 

Her body waited, trembling; suspended in patient agony under his slow and gentle teasing until Duncan spoke, his voice husky with passion. 

"Now, Amanda—come now, love. Let go." 

With a low, prolonged cry of ecstasy Amanda obeyed; her legs closed around Methos' head, locking him to her as she pulsed endlessly against his mouth. He drank her in, feeling his own body tremble with hunger; burning him with a depth of need that was almost frightening. 

It took almost a full minute for the flutters of her pleasure to die away, and when Methos resurfaced as her thighs released him he found that she was nearly asleep in Duncan's arms, completely enervated. 

The two men bathed her tenderly; taking turns supporting her while the other soaped and rinsed. Methos restrained his baser instincts for the moment, and followed Duncan's lead in ignoring the fact that both of them had rampant erections. 

* * *

The sheets were blissfully cool, and Methos relished the touch against his overheated skin as he helped slide Amanda neatly into the center of the bed. He settled a pillow carefully beneath her head while Duncan pulled the sheet up to her chin. Amanda expressed her gratitude by making a faint 'umf' sound and curling immediately into what appeared to be shockingly innocent sleep. 

Methos couldn't help but smile. "She looks so sweet—" 

Duncan snorted, a surprisingly derisive sound, jarring him. "Yeah. Go figure." 

Suddenly the two of them were chuckling, eyes locked in depraved amusement while both of them muffled their laughter in an effort to be quiet. 

When humor had faded to manageable levels, Methos sighed and settled himself gently on the other side of Amanda's still form. As tempting as it was to take advantage of Amanda's comatose state to seduce Duncan into something mutually rewarding, Methos knew that he'd already pushed Duncan's limits quite a bit. His intuition suggested that he should just settle back and see what kind of effect desperation and curiosity had on the Highlander—frustrating, yes; but possibly rewarding in the long run... 

He reached out slowly; noticing that Duncan's laughter tapered off at once, but he stopped his hand when it rested over the sheet covering Amanda's hip. He began a gentle stroking that only barely brushed her sweet, feminine curves, and saw her smile faintly; the translucent skin of her eyelids flickered as if she was lost in a happy dream. His mouth twisted wryly at that—she probably was. 

Duncan moved gradually closer in small increments, amusingly reminiscent of a wild animal approaching with utmost wariness. Methos smiled down at Amanda and pretended not to notice, memorizing the length of her eyelashes and stroking, stroking that same small, safe section of sheet as he waited patiently for Duncan's arousal to override his fear. 

It required great effort not to permit a triumphant grin when Duncan's broad, square hand appeared over the flat expanse of Amanda's sheet- covered stomach; amazingly dark against the white linen. He maintained his focus, petting Amanda hypnotically as if there weren't two hundred pounds of damp, luscious, horny Scotsman sizzling against the sheets just on the other side of her. His vision clouded as an acutely vivid picture sprang to mind—it would be fairly easy to get Duncan flat on his back and helpless, and he saw himself taking control and riding the Highlander's big, beautiful cock until he screamed for mercy. 

Suddenly it was much more difficult to maintain the fiction of absorption. 

When Duncan's hand brushed hesitantly against his, it was all Methos could do not to vault over their sleeping companion and take what he wanted. _Control, Old Man...Down, boy!_

Methos looked up quickly, wide-eyed as if pulled out of a sudden reverie, and met Duncan's gaze. 

It was almost too perfect. His first glance into the other man's eyes told Methos that he wasn't alone in his world of make-believe—Duncan's touch might be tentative, but his features held all the assurances of casual familiarity—you actually had to look pretty deep to see the panic underneath. Methos rigidly sustained his own surprised, slightly anxious look—only the inner man was allowed to exult over the gratifying sweetness of playing hesitant prey to MacLeod's counterfeit libertine. 

He let the moment hang between them, watching with barely repressed affection as Duncan called on some unguessed resources for strength and leaned resolutely towards him, slowly enough that Methos' mouth blossomed into a hot focus of the ache that was his entire body by the time their lips actually touched. 

The last time they kissed Methos had driven the encounter, an advantage taken of a quick moment of desperation, as sudden and shocking as the first stroke of energy in a Quickening. This was a different caress entirely—controlled on the surface, but hinting strongly at some great, undisclosed passion—much like the man who initiated it. 

Methos didn't have to feign the gasp and shiver that swept his system as Duncan's lips closed over his own, and there was no need to pretend to be overwhelmed when Duncan's hot, silky tongue thrust abruptly into his mouth. 

Duncan left him panting, pulling away long before Methos considered himself done. The brown eyes were hazy and glowed with banked heat, bravado abandoned in a moment of tingling closeness as they looked at each other candidly, need reflecting need. "You're very good at that," Duncan murmured; and Methos let the fun and games end as he stole gingerly over Amanda's motionless form, as desire conquered his self- imposed resolution to avoid transgressing Duncan's limits. 

"There are things I'm better at," he responded quietly. The harmony between them faded as Duncan's eyes shuttered behind new fear, but Methos gladly sacrificed accord for the indescribable pleasure of stroking such tender, satiny skin. He stretched out—not too close, but close enough to feel the heat of Duncan's body like a glimmer of temptation—and ran his hand softly over the smooth, warm curves of Duncan's chest. 

He took it as slow as he could. He ignored the tight, brown nipples entirely, enticing as they were—MacLeod's breathing was short and rapid, his eyes wary, and Methos was not about to do anything that might tip the precarious balance of permission. Instead he sought out new aphrodisiac sources; delighted when he found tender spots that made Duncan's eyes dilate with sudden, bewildered response. He deliberately tended each of these in turn, raking his nails lightly over the other man's hard sternum, softly caressing his indented waist, tracing slow patterns against the perspiring skin at the base of his throat... 

It was difficult to say which was more arousing—feeling Duncan's body under his touch, or watching him surrender. Methos shivered again as Duncan arched into his hand for the first time, eyes wide and hot and unfulfilled. 

"I..." 

Methos waited. Duncan looked taken aback, as if he hadn't meant to speak aloud. Methos stopped moving restlessly from place to place, and simply stroked his thumb languidly over and over the vein that pulsed at the side of Duncan's neck. 

"What is it?" he queried softly, willing to push a little now that capitulation was almost in his grasp. His own needs were under control, at least for right now—Duncan's inhibitions were sloughing away with each touch of his fingers, he was sure of it. Sooner or later the hesitant act would— 

"Kiss me," Duncan breathed in a frantic, whispering rush, and before Methos could even begin to comply a firm hand caught the back of his head and drew him down to into the heady reality of wet, urgent kisses. 

It was a surprise, Duncan's appetite for kissing—unexpected, but gratifying. Methos trembled as Duncan sucked enthusiastically on his tongue, trying not to lose control as searing shocks of pleasure arrowed straight to his neglected groin. He gasped at the same moment that Duncan groaned, and the sound of their mingled desire told Methos that enough was enough already—two quick moves and Duncan's cock would be deep in his throat... 

"Wow." A small voice intervened before he could move. 

Methos' heart sank as Duncan froze beneath him. He retrieved his tongue just in time before the other man's mouth pulled hastily away, head turned sideways towards where Amanda peeked over his shoulder. 

Methos reluctantly looked from Duncan to Amanda, reminding himself stringently that she was the reason he'd had this chance in the first place, and therefore it would be impolite to kill her. Her eyes were huge and avid. 

"Don't stop on account of me, guys," she said softly, as close to timid as Methos had ever heard her, "that was...really...remarkable..." 

Methos sighed as Duncan pulled away from him, trying not to feel utterly disappointed as the other man sat up and buried his face in his hands. Now that the Highlander's back was to them he loosed his best scowl at Amanda, mouthing silent words at her. 

_Thanks a lot, you..._

She gave him an apologetic shrug in return, mouthing back at him. _Sorry! I didn't think he'd stop!_

Methos rolled his eyes. _Tell me another one..._

Now she combined apology with an appeal for forgiveness, a sweet and sorrowful pout that made him smile despite his irritation. _Please don't be mad...I'll make it up to you—_

Before he could make any further silent comments Amanda reached up and took Duncan's arm, pulling him resolutely back between them. 

"What's the matter with you, Duncan?" Her voice was low and playful, but the rebuke was definitely there. "You're not usually so rude to your partners." 

Methos chewed pensively on one edge of his thumb to cover a smile at Duncan's stubborn scowl. "I didn't mean to be rude, I just... you surprised me." 

Amanda was having none of it. Apparently fully awake now, she rose up on her knees to lean heavily on Duncan's chest with her arms crossed, threatening and adorable at the same time. "Really?" she asked silkily, "It looked to me like maybe you surprised yourself." She turned to Methos, her eyes bright with mischief. "I think he was rude to you. Don't you think so?" 

"Amanda..." Duncan's tone was the essence of aggravated warning. She didn't seem to notice. 

"Well, let's see..." Methos replied, following her lead, "what's the standard punishment for rudeness?" Her face was so beautifully, perfectly sly, wicked in every way—he wanted to kiss her. Hard. 

She leaned back away from her perch to settle on her heels, and regarded Duncan with careful consideration while she held out her hand towards Methos. Not about to pass up this opportunity, Methos took the offered hand and rose smoothly to his knees, turning so that he had an unhindered view of Duncan glaring from one of them to the other, looking extremely provoked. 

"I say we see how fucking hot we can make him." Amanda's words, spoken in that slow, feminine, threatening cadence, sent shivers down Methos' spine. 

As if on cue, Duncan gulped. 

* * *

Methos stared blindly at the ceiling and bit deeper into his lower lip, his body rigid with strain as he wondered whether Amanda had been a little confused about who exactly was supposed to be being punished here. "Amanda—" he hissed through clenched teeth, "I don't know how much more of this I can stand—" 

"Umm..." Not the most coherent response, but probably the best she could do, given that her mouth was full of his cock. He was still on his knees next to Duncan's prone body with Amanda on the other side; a position that puzzled him until he realized that not only would MacLeod have no choice but to watch Amanda go down on him, but also allowed her to brush Duncan's erection with the soft globes of her breasts as she rocked slowly back and forth. 

Despite her vague mumble she eased up on him a little, no longer tormenting him with sweeping curls of her tongue on every upstroke. Methos sighed appreciatively, allowing his hands to thread gently into the damp strands of her hair, and retreated far enough from the edge that he risked a glance at Duncan. 

Poor guy. Amanda had told him in no uncertain terms that he was not allowed to move, participate, or otherwise interfere; and with a particularly devious touch she'd said that she trusted him, _upon his honor_ , not to budge until she told him he could. 

Abruptly Methos didn't feel quite so put-upon that he was expected to withstand Amanda's hot, clever little mouth, since Duncan looked like he was having a pretty challenging time himself. His smooth, dark skin dripped with sweat; beaded droplets radiant in the dim candlelight over splendidly tense muscles. His eyes were fierce with undisguised hunger, his brows furrowed with strain. Methos would have liked to relieve him; would have liked to take him in his arms and lick every bead of sweat from his skin before finishing him off, but right now it was just too gratifying...too hot...too much... 

"Oh, God..." It didn't matter that Amanda was taking it easy on him—his nerves were blistered with pleasure, and her mouth felt too damn good. He arched into her, hands in her hair tightening unconsciously to a firm grip. His eyes dropped closed, bringing his other senses into sharper focus—Duncan's thigh trembling against his knees, a draft of cool air against his perspiring shoulders, and Amanda, beautiful Amanda, so soft and welcoming and fiery— 

Her hand snaked around him and squeezed unbearably just as Duncan uttered a desperate moan, tearing Methos two ways at once. He gasped and bucked wildly in her grip, wondering dimly if he might simply implode from the pressure, from the pleasure, from the pain. Amanda held him tight—he heard her light, wicked chuckle as if from far away, and his whole body tensed in a sudden cramp of denied longing. 

"You evil, evil woman," he panted, glowering down at her one single, visible eye glinting merrily beneath a draped veil of shiny brown hair, "you know what I'm going to do to you for that little prank—?" 

His words melted away into a pained groan as she released her stranglehold on him and slid smoothly upwards with a teasing, apologetic stroke. 

"Enough—" Duncan's voice was low and hoarse, drawing Methos' attention away from his thoughts of revenge. He looked up. MacLeod appeared to be even more miserable than before, his hands clenched fiercely into the sheets as if he'd tear them to shreds in a moment. Methos shivered as Amanda released him, and watched her creep sinuously up Duncan's tense, rigid body. 

"Have you learned your lesson, Duncan?" Her fingers traced his suffering face tenderly, a mockery of mercy. "You're not going to be rude again, are you?" 

A deep growl was the only response, and Amanda tsked mournfully. "Still stubborn? How sad..." 

Abruptly, she turned to him. "Methos, dear, come over here, please." Light and sweet, a marked contrast to the scolding tone she used to chide Duncan. 

Smiling, Methos moved quietly towards her, divided between the smug satisfaction of being the teacher's pet and the dire need to stop all these absurd games so he could fuck _somebody_ —his balls ached with heaviness, and his mind was just full of suggestions about how he should fix that... 

She pulled his head down to Duncan's throat. Methos took a deep breath, dizzying his senses with the warm, aromatic scent of male arousal, watching through half-closed eyes as Amanda lowered to the other side of Duncan's neck and nuzzled in. 

The pulse beneath his lips thundered, pounded with life as he sought out the most vulnerable places with his teeth, perspiration an erotic sting on his tongue. He was tentative at first, waiting to see if Mac would resist, but apparently fear of being licked by Methos wasn't as daunting as fear of being tortured by Amanda. Probably a wise choice. 

Duncan groaned beneath them, his head bowed back so far it looked painful. Methos followed Amanda's lead as she nibbled her way up the stubbled jaw, pausing when she lifted her head. 

She leaned forward and took Methos' mouth, and the salty, poignant taste of aroused flesh slick on her tongue as it was on his own shivered through him. MacLeod's panted exhalations were loud in the quiet room, brushing over his skin with delicious warmth. 

Amanda broke from him and kissed Duncan briefly, then pulled away, her eyes flashing a silent suggestion. Methos lowered slowly to moist, parted lips, offering time for refusal, gratified to find only receptive willingness. Methos' eyes fluttered closed, but when Duncan jerked beneath him and moaned into his mouth he knew without looking that Amanda had reached down for an intimate squeeze, a carefully calculated reward. 

They kissed Duncan in turns as desire intensified between the three of them, enveloping them in a heated, pungent haze of anticipation and lust. When he wasn't losing himself in MacLeod's passionate mouth Methos explored everything else offered—throat, ear, jaw, shoulder— imprinting on his memory every texture and response, every nuance of dark mystery that gave up secrets to his ardent senses. He felt almost drunk; his blood coursing with soft waves of languorous desire that pulled him under, willingly drowning. 

When Amanda moved lower Methos followed after her, leaving Duncan openmouthed and gasping for air as he chased behind the soft fall of Amanda's hair leading lazily over corded, trembling muscle, fastening anew on every spot as soon as she abandoned it. Duncan's nipples proved to be delightfully sensitive—for long minutes he and Amanda traded them back and forth until the man beneath them cried out with desperate incoherence and lifted, straining and shuddering, off the bed. 

Methos caught a quick flash of Amanda's eyes, and withdrew just a little, waiting while she whispered soothingly to Duncan. He caught one word, 'please', barely audible in MacLeod's breathless speech, and Amanda's mollifying 'soon, lover'. He smiled. 

Not if _he_ had anything to say about it. 

There was a faint, moist smack of lips, and then Amanda was back with him, leading him further down. She pulled him into a demanding, openmouthed kiss, wet and urgent—he was about to grab for her, but she moved away before he could—and then drew his head relentlessly downwards, firm hands on the back of his neck pressing him towards the other man's waiting erection. 

" _I told you I'd make it up to you..._ " her whisper was almost imperceptible over Duncan's sudden, ragged groan. Methos knew better than to chuckle, so he expressed his appreciation in the only way that he could, by opening wide and getting seriously involved. 

Duncan's cock was incredibly hard, foreskin drawn back entirely, slick with moisture; utterly alluring. Methos took it all greedily, his moan of pleasure muffled almost entirely by the massive, heavy, throbbing flesh that sang on his tongue, velvet and musk. When Duncan gasped and convulsed under him Methos moved one hand to the base of the shaft to steady it, a low, deep murmur of appreciation drawn helplessly from his throat. 

It only took about two seconds for Duncan to encompass enough of the experience to start thrusting, and Methos weakened terribly under the influence of invasion—beautiful, powerful hips lifted towards him...taking...and taking, and...oh dear God he wished that Duncan would get over himself and just grab his head and _use_ his mouth properly— 

All thought stopped for a moment, and his body blazed with sudden heat as his half-closed eyes noticed one of Amanda's hands covering, pulling one of Duncan's, moving it smoothly towards him... 

A gentle, uncertain weight settled onto the back of his head, pausing there as if considering. Duncan's hips slowed almost to a stop, and Methos slowed, as well. He closed his eyes. _Please... Come on... Where's that warrior courage when you—_

That was as far as he got with his silent prayer before pressure came and a savage groan filled his ears at the same moment that Duncan's length pistoned straight down his throat. _Oh **yes**..._

His body shook violently, shuddering with pleasure as Duncan fucked his mouth with every ounce of passion Methos had suspected, straining against him and _grunting_ in a desperate, earthy way that made his cock leap. He was going to come from this, no question—strong grip on his head, swollen, rigid shaft plunging into him—his own erection throbbed in sympathy with each pulse against the sensitive membranes of his mouth...so very close, so terribly _good_... 

And once again, Amanda put herself in dire peril by prohibiting paradise. Her hand slid briskly under his own, squeezing so hard that the flesh in his mouth swelled to a size that nearly choked him. Empathic pain wrenched his body, and both he and Duncan gave simultaneous howls of dismay. 

"Amanda!" he pulled back in shock, and Duncan's hand disappeared from his head as if it had never been there. "What the _hell_ did you do that for?" 

Her eyes were brilliant; aroused and roguish and warm. "I'm not done teasing him yet." 

Methos groaned and slumped unhappily onto the bed. "MacLeod, I'm on your side in this one—do you think we should kill her?" 

"I...think..." the deep voice quavered, pushing words arduously between panting breaths, "I think...I'm dying..." 

Despite his own despair, when Methos caught Amanda's twinkling eyes he couldn't help it—it was either laugh or explode. They laughed, and to his surprise Duncan joined them; weakly, yes, but it was still a three- part harmony that he felt he'd been waiting for since the evening began. 

Methos was still chuckling when sudden movement stirred against his side as Duncan sat up abruptly. 

"Duncan," Amanda said reproachfully, "you promised you wouldn't move until I said you could. Get back there." 

Methos saw the heat in the wide, brown eyes before Amanda did, and understood at once that Duncan's little interval of obedience was at an end. 

"No, Amanda." Apparently, Duncan could do threatening as well as Amanda could. "You've seen how hot you can make me. Now you have to finish what you started." 

Methos watched, mesmerized, as MacLeod rose to his knees and began to advance on Amanda; menacing, stalking her, beautifully feral. "I'm going to fuck you so hard your Immortal body will be sore for a _week_ ," he growled, tensing into a crouch. 

"Methos," Amanda piped nervously, " _do_ something—this is your fault, anyway..." 

Duncan's attention snapped to him suddenly, and Methos' blood flashed white-hot under that predatory, dangerous, erotic gaze. His breath caught. 

"Yes, _Methos_ ," oh— _very_ nice, when Duncan snarled his name, "do something—" MacLeod leapt fast, and Amanda squealed anxiously as she was captured and propelled violently into Methos' arms. "Hold her for me, will you?" 

Their eyes were locked together again, a million miles away from where Amanda squirmed restlessly between them. 

Methos smiled. 

* * *

It occurred to Methos with a shiver of awe that contemplation of Duncan's abilities was almost enough to obscure his envy of Amanda. 

Almost. 

He slid deeper into the soft pillows propped behind his back, arching a little to try to relieve the pitiful throbbing of his erection—not that he could move much. He was tangled, pretzel-like, with Amanda's trembling, writhing limbs—her back to his chest, his arms wrapped around her torso with the sweet silken weight of her breasts full beneath his hands, his legs wide and hooked over hers, holding her open for MacLeod's pleasure. 

Which turned out to be surprisingly, delightfully vile. Methos was enchanted. 

Duncan's strategy was simple and elegant, but there was nothing refined about the execution. He kept either his cock or his tongue buried deep between Amanda's thighs, switching off whenever she got close to coming. 

Methos didn't think Amanda was quite as appreciative of Duncan's talent as he was—although, he amended, she might very well be—she was a wonderfully twisted little tart, after all, and just because she was currently reduced to a sobbing, moaning, pathetically begging puddle didn't mean she wasn't having fun. 

He arched against her again, sighing quietly. The base of her spine was pressed against his weeping erection, moist and perspiring—sweet to slide against, but ultimately not enough. He looked down. 

Duncan's hair draped over Amanda's thighs, dark silk over white; all he could see of whatever MacLeod was doing that made her shudder like she was having some kind of seizure. Methos tightened his grip on her, and gasped as her hips wrenched sharply upward, seeking—once, twice— 

This time, Amanda almost shrieked when Duncan pulled back from her, and Methos had to use considerable force to keep her immobilized. He restrained her unconsciously, aware only of the slick warmth of her breasts in his hands and the inadequate friction against his erection, staring hungrily at Duncan's swollen, moist lips. 

The Highlander still retained that savage, primitive quality that made Methos' insides melt and dissolve into uncontrollable desire—this was the sexual animal that dwelled deep within the normal façade of a civilized man—a fiend that Methos responded to helplessly. It was impossible to look at him without drowning in images of being on the receiving end of all that dark, primal lust. 

Methos tensed when Duncan advanced on them, and a soft hiss of yearning escaped him before he could stop it. Amanda was truly a delightful woman, but in that moment he wished for nothing more than for her to disperse into vapor so that he could take a turn. 

In a bright, blazing moment of frustrated lust, inspiration struck. Methos froze, immobile in the grip of a burgeoning scheme, only dimly aware that Duncan had once again plunged into Amanda and was pounding furiously against both of them. He closed his eyes, even desire obscured for a brief moment by gratitude so deep it was holy—a sacred revelation, only slightly bizarre under the circumstances. 

He firmed his grip on Amanda's breasts, took a deep, dizzying breath, opened his eyes—and stopped, suddenly face-to-face with the unexpected. 

Duncan was looking at him. _Staring_ at him. 

Invading him—tearing into him, pulling him fiercely close to scorching, wanton heat. 

_Fucking him_ , somehow, with his eyes. 

Oh... 

It took every particle of willpower he had not to squeeze up against Amanda's slippery back and let himself come. He groaned, and his utterance flickered hot in the eyes that held him. 

"Do it, Methos," Duncan growled, ignoring Amanda's wail as he increased the pace of his thrusts. Methos gasped, every muscle tightening, struggling against the inevitable, striving for control over his own deprived, ravenous body... 

"No," he managed through clenched teeth. 

Fierce brown eyes, blazing, demanding... 

His own will, his own mastery; challenging, answering...finally commanding. "Duncan— _don't come_!" 

With one smooth movement, Methos pulled Amanda's legs as far open as he could, and shoved her hips forward while he clamped down forcefully on her nipples. 

Her scream ripped through his head like a benediction, and he held her tight as she convulsed, his body tingling with tiny shocks as he breathed in the culmination of her pleasure. A stunned, disbelieving groan brought his head up, and the distressed rage on Duncan's face almost, for a moment, made him regret his actions. 

The three of them shifted in tableau—uncertainty, ecstasy, fury. After long moments of trying to get his breathing under control and tussling with sudden and unexpected indecision, after Amanda's cries softened to hushed sighs and she became a limp weight in his arms; Methos leaned forward and captured Duncan's mouth softly. An apology, an atonement, a plea, an offer... 

MacLeod pulled away from him, resentment hot in his eyes. "Why?" he demanded, still panting, his forehead tight with wrath. 

Methos drew up desire, allowed the power of longing to drive the words that meant such risk. There was no more use in pretending indifference—there was only the truth of the moment, such as it was. He hoped it was enough. "I want you." 

Amanda mumbled something sleepily, but neither of them looked at her. 

Duncan's anger shifted slightly to scrutiny, and Methos bit back a sigh of disappointment at this first sign of renewed wariness. "What do you want?" MacLeod's words were almost totally devoid of feeling. Methos tensed. 

"I want..." Oh hell. 

"I want you to fuck me." The cool reluctance in his stomach flared into a spark of hope as he saw his words find a mark. 

Further speech came without thought. "I want to get Amanda out from between us. I want to stretch out under you and take whatever you'll give me. I don't want to tease you—I don't want to hurt you—I just want to feel you come." 

Oh my. He was on to something here, all right. MacLeod wasn't quite the savage animal he had been, but he was getting there. Methos sighed and looked deep into the darkening eyes, letting his urgency surface, waiting... "Please...come to me—come for me...I want your cock, Highlander." 

Duncan's arms were so gentle when they pulled Amanda from his grip that Methos feared for a moment that he'd gone too far, that somehow he'd moved MacLeod past desire and into that careful, reserved place that balked so easily. He bit his lip, and promised himself that if Mac was reticent he'd simply go take a shower and jerk off. It wasn't what he wanted, but it would do... 

Amanda was solidly, thoroughly out; there was no noise in the room except for heavy breathing as they worked together to arrange her limp form to sprawl at the side of the bed. Methos' stomach fluttered nervously, and he cursed himself for a fool. Why should he care, after all? 

When he turned to Duncan again, Methos was wrapped securely in a palpable shield of defiance, a refuge that he'd built over more years than he cared to count. Mac looked at him guardedly, and Methos felt every inch of distance that separated them as if it were an impenetrable wall. 

"Well," Duncan said irritably, "are you going to get horizontal, or do I have to wake Amanda up and make her hold you down?" 

* * *

Methos didn't know how he'd finally wound up on his back with MacLeod on top of him, and frankly, he didn't care. All that mattered now was that Duncan's body was wonderfully heavy and hot and demanding, that hot kisses scorched his mouth and jaw with incandescent passion, and that finally he could feel the tip of Duncan's cock nudging gently up to where he needed it, slippery with Amanda's wetness and his own sweat. He could taste desperation on the other man's tongue, and it lit him from within. 

" _Yes_ —" only a whisper, all he could spare. "Oh _please_..." 

Duncan lifted a little, jolting him with sudden fear, but there was no abandonment threatened. The dark eyes were wild and fierce, beautiful hair tousled into an undisciplined mane. "Do I need... what should I..." 

Methos pulled him close again, breathing deep of the earthy, male smell of lust. "No. Just do it. Please..." He opened—his mouth, his body— open and welcome and craving... 

Duncan entered him in two places at once; arms tight around him and holding him blessedly immobile while his mouth and ass were penetrated with devastating, implacable force. His tongue was bitten; his body ravished, torn, forced asunder—violated so thoroughly that all he could do was gasp his fulfillment into Duncan's mouth. 

_Yes_. 

Abruptly Duncan's head disappeared into the hollow of his throat, heaving breaths shivering hot over his skin. "Oh Christ... _Methos_..." 

A wave of protectiveness swelled within—unexpected, but not unwelcome—and of their own will his hands came to rest tenderly on Duncan's bowed head. "It's okay," he breathed, stroking softly, "don't stop this—please...just...take me." 

Duncan moved once, gently, and the pleasure was so delicate and yet so powerfully overwhelming that Methos was shocked to hear himself sob hoarsely. His hands clenched fistfuls of silk as he held Duncan's head tucked against his throat, needing him close, closer still— something to hold tight to as everything else fell away. His heart felt like it would pound through his chest, as if there were only some thin, easily pierced membrane between him and the ferocious thunder of the Highlander's heartbeat. 

Methos felt Duncan shudder violently above him, and with a sigh he began do what he could from his pinned position to move them against each other. He lifted his hips, pressing their connection deeper, and Duncan responded with a low, raw groan that sounded almost like agony. 

Methos guided, Duncan followed. Neither spoke a word. Methos kept all movement at first subtle and slow, a minutiae of learning meant to comfort and calm while he waited to give over control, to have it taken from him. The fit of Duncan's body to his own was exquisite, a sensation of harmonious accord that was intoxicating, perfect, wonderfully sensual. Methos gave and gave again and kept on giving— his body, his experience, his trust. And slowly, with wonder that was somehow the antithesis of fear, Duncan learned to take what he offered. 

There came a moment when the power between them was in perfect balance, when Methos realized that they moved together as if they had always been meant to. Duncan's stubbled cheek rubbed sweetly against his own, affection and solace and delight blended in one simple caress. Broad, callused fingers explored his face, teased lingeringly over his eyes, making him shiver. When they reached his lips he drew them in hungrily, sucking with rediscovered yearning for the fire that had drawn him in the first place. 

Duncan heaved over him and thrust with sudden force, and Methos cried out helplessly. He abandoned the fingers in his mouth, which drew quickly away to slip beneath his shoulder once again, holding him tight. 

Methos didn't question the desperate need they both had to hold and be held—he hadn't expected it, but it was simply too powerful to be denied, and too pleasurable not to indulge. They clung to each other like isolated survivors of some unknown, ongoing holocaust, as if all possible threats in the equation of their world were external to the tight pocket of safety created by their joining. 

Duncan took him hard, and Methos opened to him as if his survival depended on it, meeting each thrust with a wordless appeal for more. More was given, and more demanded, and voluptuous pleasure intensified in layers until there was nothing in Methos' existence except the man in his arms, feeding his body's hunger with fierce brutality. 

Methos gasped for breath and squeezed his eyes closed, trying not to come. He promised himself that he could let go when Duncan did; he wanted to know that Duncan was with him when he gave in, wanted that surrender to be as mutual as the need had been. 

It took all the discipline he had. Duncan had found the place inside that flayed him with pleasure every time it was touched, and Methos couldn't escape it as he was stroked from within, over and over until he thought he'd explode. He moaned, struggling for control of his body, waiting for Duncan to release him. 

Duncan began to shudder heavily, a vibration that Methos absorbed without effort—it fueled him, deepened all awareness of their connection—Duncan was there, right there, so close and warm and vulnerable... 

Methos found Duncan's mouth seeking his—they melted together— licking, smoothing, tasting the sharp edge of want— 

Bodies locked together, just so; and Methos held himself absolutely still and let Duncan pound into him, burning on the verge of completion...there, and there, and again, and one more...and... 

Oh God. 

Oh My God... 

Come with me—yes. 

Feel—all of you—yes. 

Hot...flooding...drowning... 

Oh...yes... 

Sounds, words, cries were lost between mouths sealed together, feeding and fed, and Methos couldn't have heard any of it anyway because blood was pounding ferociously loud in his ears—his heart, Duncan's heart—throbbing, pulsing, still _coming_ , together. 

_Yes_. 

* * *

It was quiet in the room, and somehow darker than it should be—a slow awareness that the candles had finally burned out—for a very long time. Methos had dreaded this interval, feared the comedown and the guilt trips and the recriminations; and he was surprised and a little amused to find himself anxious when it didn't happen. Duncan stayed buried inside him, head down with soft, gentle kisses tingling occasionally at his throat, letting Methos hold him. 

The body above him was heavy, but it was a weight that Methos bore gladly. The smell of sex and satiation made him drowsy, and he had just started to wonder if Duncan had fallen asleep when a quiet whisper broke the silence. 

"That was so beautiful..." 

Duncan's head came up and both of them turned, looked over to see Amanda watching them with somnolent, exhausted eyes. She smiled and reached out to them languidly, and Methos gasped a little as the half-erect cock slid finally from his body. 

"You okay?" Duncan's eyes were clear and calm, and wonderfully present. Methos smiled. 

"Oh yes. Just tired." 

Duncan 'mmm'ed in wordless agreement, and lifted gently away. Methos shivered as cold air hit the wet heat of his skin where Duncan had been pressed close. 

Amanda's hand fluttered on the edge of his vision. "Methos in the middle," she insisted in a dozy murmur, and Methos didn't argue as Amanda pulled him close and snuffled him while Duncan settled blankets and spooned up sweetly against his back. 

He was lost in darkness, wrapped in comfort and floating serenely downwards when Duncan's voice, a little hoarse but perfectly audible, pulled him back. 

"Guys?" 

"What?" Methos' eyes opened at once. 

Amanda only managed "hmm?" 

A pause, then— 

"You planned this whole thing, didn't you?" 

Amanda's eyes opened and caught his. There was a pause while he watched her flash through panic, then uncertainty, and finally, recklessness. Methos raised his eyebrows. 

"Yup." In stereo. 

Another pause. Longer. A pause that went on until Methos was beginning to feel distinctly uneasy, until all his muscles began to tighten in anticipation of some impending menace, then— 

"You people are terrible. G'night." Duncan's arm crept around his waist, and warm breath tickled the back of his neck as the Highlander snuggled in. 

Methos rubbed noses softly with Amanda, the exhausted equivalent of a high-five. 

"Good night, Duncan." 

* * *

Author name: Aristide   
Title: Consent of Twain   
Rating: NC-17   
Characters: DM, M, A   
Classification: Slash   
Comments: Graphic heterosexual and homosexual adult content.   
Summary: First time Methos/Duncan/Amanda. A wank that is mercifully free of the ravages of plot. A little silly.   
Disclaimer: This story is rated NC-17 for graphic depiction of sexual activity with both genders. You have been warned.   
The characters in this story are not mine. I am only borrowing them, and I mean no harm. No money changed hands (at least not with me).   
This material may not be copied or distributed without permission. Please do not link, publish or post this material without permission.   
Any comments, questions, etc. can be sent to me at [email removed]   
---


	2. A Good Thing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First time Methos/Duncan/Amanda. A wank that is mercifully free of the ravages of plot. A little silly.

  
**A Good Thing  
by Aristide**

  
_Lifetimes upon lifetimes of privation and want can embed some strange habits into a person._

Methos smiled at the thought, acknowledging the wry truth of it even as his hand slipped surreptitiously into the warm paper bag and fetched out another morsel of superb bread. 

Two streets down from his new apartment there was a tiny bakery run by a huge and indistinguishable family of Italians, and Methos often succumbed to the lure of their golden, crusty loaves when he passed that way. To his amusement, he found that he was never able to make it home with an intact loaf—he _had_ to nibble. 

It was one thing to give in to temptation—a familiar dynamic, the very one that led him to buy the bread in the first place. This other compulsion was different, older; something implacable and insistent that demanded that the good opportunities, the good _things_ , be enjoyed before some unknown calamity happened along and took it all away from him. 

It was, he considered, a similar principle to that which dictated that a camel will drink whenever water was offered, regardless of thirst; an evolutionary imperative—and what was he, after all, but the cumulative manifestation of five thousand years' worth of evolving durability? Yes, true, he currently lived in a world of relative peace and absolute plenty, but still... the bread was an _excellent_ thing, a _sustaining_ thing, the staff of life... and so, he nibbled. Every time. 

Which was why, when the buzz hit him in the exact same moment that he heard a familiar voice singing from behind the closed door to his apartment; when the singing stopped and his door flew open and a tidy shape hurtled into his arms; he was unable to offer or return any immediate greeting—his mouth was full of very good bread. 

"Methos!" Amanda hugged him and his bag of purchases so fiercely that the delicate loaf was squashed flat between them. "You must have missed me terribly—I bet you did—Oh, it's _so_ good to see you..." 

Somehow, Methos forced the mechanics of peristalsis, swallowed his mouthful despite the fact that Amanda squeezed him so hard that there wasn't much option about where it could go. 

"'Manda," he managed dryly, "good to see you too. Get off me—you've squished my bread." 

Her face turned up from his chest and she blinked incredulously. "Your—bread." 

He nodded. 

She blinked again. "I haven't seen you for three months, and all you can think about is your bread?" 

Methos scowled, and kissed her nose with mock-disapproval. "You shouldn't thwart my bread instincts—it interrupts my evolutionary process." 

Her eyes narrowed warily, and he saw her nostrils flare a bit—no doubt olfactory research into the state of his sobriety. He smiled. 

"Right," she said slowly. "Well, Methos, you don't _smell_ drunk—" 

"Never mind," he interrupted mellowly, holding her close, resigning his bread to its pulped fate, "a baguette and a bagatelle, and the value of both sacrificed to this momentous occasion. It _is_ good to see you." 

Her lips opened warm beneath his, her body folded to him easily—a compact bundle of accommodating welcome in his arms; sweet. He tasted wine—his _best_ wine... He growled, a low sound of contradictory but inextricable aggravation and delight. Amanda. Beautiful, passionate, infuriating Amanda; profligate vixen, maddening Goddess... 

When his bakery bag slipped from beneath his arm and thudded unceremoniously to the dusty floor of the hallway, he didn't even notice. 

* * *

"So," he began, now warm and fed and comfortable in the familiar embrace of his favorite chair, "what brings you here? Are you in trouble?" 

Amanda rolled her eyes, scoffing. "Oh yes, Methos—I'm pregnant and Duncan refuses to do the honorable—I want you to force him at sword- point to make an honest woman of me." 

Methos choked, suffering and sputtering under the uneasy combination of a mouthful of beer and a bellyful of laughter. "You got me," he gasped out when he could. "Oh, that _hurts_..." Eventually he swallowed, composing himself. "Amanda, Mac's a wonderfully skilled man, and I've seen him do some incredible things, but there's a world of difference between the incredible and the impossible." 

"Bastard," Amanda replied mildly, smiling at him over the top of her wine glass, "if I didn't need your help I'd make you pay for that." 

"Ah—now it all comes out. You break into my new apartment, wreck my bread, guzzle my good wine, and then have the temerity to ask for my help. I suppose I'm lucky you didn't pop by to give me a piece of your mind—you'd probably have burned the bloody place to the ground." 

Amanda delved into her purse, pawing, muttering. "I know I have that guy's gold lighter in here _somewhere_..." 

Methos waved her off. "Okay, Amanda, enough. Out with it. You want my help..." 

"I do." Bright, brilliant smile; charming smile, fetching smile. Methos braced himself. 

"It's Duncan's birthday next week," she chirped briskly, setting her wine firmly on the low table next to her chair, "and I want to give him something truly spectacular. Something staggering—" 

"Mm-hmm. And this priceless item which you can't obtain without my help—the Hope diamond?—no, too gauche—how about the Kashmirine Garnet? Perhaps the entire Picasso exhibit at—" 

Now Amanda waved _him_ off, tossing her head impatiently. "Wrong, wrong and wrong, Methos. I said _spectacular_ , not _felonious_. I want to give him us." 

Methos waited patiently, sure that there must be more to that statement. He maintained calm, he breathed, he blinked; and in his mind he flashed back to 1929, to the first time he ever rode a roller coaster. The serene, dizzying drop in his stomach was the same, exactly the same... 

Apparently, there was no more to that statement. He blinked again. "Us?" 

Amanda nodded happily. "Yes, my darling idiot, us. You've got to admit, Methos, it's the very last thing he'd expect—" 

Methos shifted slightly in his chair, stomach still fluttering madly. "Oh, I admit that Amanda—although now that I think about it, finding out that you've lost your mind is probably going to be a bigger surprise. He's always thought you to be pretty solidly nailed together—" 

"Don't make me hurt you, Methos." He prickled at the sight of her flashing eyes—he'd always found that to be her most appealing look: DeathThreat Amanda. "I haven't lost my mind. It's a perfect gift—he _loved_ it last time—" 

Methos cleared his throat loudly, cutting her off. "Come on, Amanda— yes, okay, he _got through_ it last time, until he woke up naked with me in his arms. After which, if you'll recall, he got very quiet. After which, I'm sure you remember, he successfully resisted both of our attempts to jolly him along, to talk about it, to get him to do anything other than stare at the floor and brood. And after _that_ , in case you've forgotten, I stayed away while he gave you the cool shoulder for an entire week—a week during which you plagued me continually, whingeing on about it." 

Amanda favored him with a lofty, disdainful sniff. "I do not _whinge_ on about things. You're the one who was so morose that you couldn't find your way out of a bottle for a week..." 

Methos nodded firmly, staring hard and resolute into her eyes. "Yes, and I've no desire to do it again. So go steal him something breathtaking, Amanda, and leave me out of it." 

Her lips pursed. He knew that she hated it whenever she talked herself into a corner—he had to struggle not to grin, despite the small silver blossoms of pain that threatened behind his temples. Maybe now she'd give up and go away so that he could take his nascent headache, his incipient erection, and his bittersweet memories off to the warm solitude of the shower. 

No such luck. Amanda never admitted defeat easily—it was one of her most endearing (and most frustrating) traits. 

"Meee-thos..." she murmured, amazing him with the new-found knowledge that there was such a thing as a silky whine, "don't be so cross." 

She slithered from her prim position on the couch down to her knees in one sinuous, boneless slide, and crept leisurely towards him. "You _know_ he loved it, Methos. We all did. He was just scared, that's all—" 

"And now you want to scare him again, is that it?" 

His voice stopped her approach, but she only smiled at him, smiled as graciously as if he'd paid her a lavish compliment. 

"You let me worry about that." 

* * *

Amanda imparted her plan in a warm, glowy whisper, looking the whole time as if she was utterly unaware of the picture she made curled so innocently at his feet with her hands and chin propped on his knee—an ingenuous schoolgirl in her off hours, narrating dirty stories without a single blush. 

Amazing, really; that he could actually get hooked by something like that... Amazing. He didn't know whether to order her out of his house or fall on her like the dirty old man that she seemed to want him to be. 

"You're mad, Amanda. He's not going to go along with it." 

Amanda rolled her eyes, as world-weary as all of her young years could make her. "You men—none of you have any faith. It's terribly sad, Methos—without me around to inspire you, none of you would ever get anything accomplished." 

Methos regarded her testily. "I believe the word you meant to use was 'incite', Amanda, not 'inspire'. The only thing you 'inspire' me to do, is to paddle your deserving bottom." 

Amanda smiled, unperturbed, and leaned against him so that the swell of her breasts under the silky material of her blouse grazed innocently against the knees of his jeans. "I think the word you're looking for is 'squeeze', Methos. Not 'paddle'." 

Methos tried to hold on to his irascible expression, but it was damn difficult when she _knew_ that he loved that perfume... "Paddle," he insisted, drawing his brows together with effort. 

Still smiling, Amanda swarmed into his lap, captured his hands, and pulled them behind her to rest upon the part in question. "I still think it's 'squeeze'." She encouraged him with a demonstration. "Or maybe 'stroke'..... " 

Methos teetered, losing the thread of significance, of why it was so very important that he not give in to this. "Stroke," he echoed mindlessly, suiting the action to the word. 

"Or maybe—ah!—not 'paddle', but another 'P' word altogether, Methos..." 

" 'P' words are good," he murmured against the hollow of her throat, "I like 'P' words..." 

"Like pull—ohgod—or maybe—plunder—" 

"Pants!" Methos growled. "Why are you wearing these damn pants?" 

"Pants isn't the 'P' word I had in mind..." 

"Uh-uh. Better get 'em off you, then—Mmm..." 

"Mmm—'M' word, Methos; quick!" 

"Mmmfuckingmarvelous..." 

"Good choice—Oh, that's better... A general embargo on pants altogether- —" 

"Leave the pants out of it, Amanda... Christ, you're lovely—" 

"Eee!—not the ear, I'm ticklish. Methos!..." 

"Mmm." 

Things got a little vague at that point, what with the moaning and rough demands for words of one kind or another. Methos attempted to keep himself under sufficient control, knowing his tendency to be slightly more vulnerable to fervent and foolish promises under certain circumstances; but in the lost, dazzled moments when he dripped with sweat and trembled with strain, working her hard against a wall with her legs a vise around him, he may have slipped. 

She said he did, afterwards; when she'd stopped shrieking and had removed her fingernails from the tender flesh of his shoulderblades. And who was he, anyway, to doubt the word of a lady? 

Or even Amanda, for that matter. 

* * *

As Methos drove through the dark Paris streets towards the barge, he marveled over the fact that even after five thousand years of life he could still be led around by his 'P' word. He'd left behind his perfectly toasty and comfortable apartment, his plentiful beer supply and an intriguingly trashy novel about space aliens and ancient civilizations—guaranteed snicker material—to pile out into the bitter, gnawing cold towards an assignation that would probably turn out to be an exercise in futility. 

Amanda's scheme was simple enough—she'd told Methos that she planned to ask Duncan to turn himself over to her for one night, to let her use the inventive stretch of her imagination to provide him with an evening of rare sensual delights, a birthday present no other could give him. 

"You will, of course, remind him that you're significantly older than he is." 

It had been his only comment. Her smiled response was delightfully wicked... "Of course. You know he always falls for that age and experience line... " 

Methos smiled in subtle agreement. Indeed. 

Amanda did _not_ plan to inform Duncan of Methos' involvement. "If I tell him I've invited you, he'll balk. If you just show up and join in, he'll have to say no to your face." Her sharp, lacquered fingernail absently traced a Shakti pattern on the knee of his jeans. "I'm betting he won't." 

Methos wasn't so sure. Last time, Mac's wary nervousness had given way only under the extreme duress of denied satisfaction—a bloody inferno of passion when loosed, yes; but damn hard to get to. And the quiet, the coolness afterwards... he must be mad, for going along with this... 

And yet—how could he not? Methos tingled with anticipation as he drove, vacillating dizzily between a biting dread that Mac might repudiate him on sight, and a memory-fed blaze of desire—Duncan moving over him, inside him, dark with pleasure and an unsuspected need for closeness... his mouth, that feeding, open, full-lipped mouth... Methos shivered. How could he not, indeed? 

He surfaced dreamily into dual realizations: first of all, that his penis was so hard that it hurt; and second, that he was here, at the barge, only minutes away from the answer to the question that had him strung on opposite poles of intensity. Immediately there were two distinct options before him, provided with near-molecular clarity by the ruthless part of his mind whose job it was to offer him alternatives: he could take his duffel-bag and destiny in hand, walk down there and risk what there was to be risked; or he could take _himself_ in hand, and jerk off while imagining what Duncan and Amanda must be up to by now, and then drive himself home... 

There was an interval of wry amusement, almost humility, as he looked back and forth from his duffel bag in the passenger seat to the hard tent in his jeans, chewing his lip speculatively; and wondered what in the hell five thousand years of experience was worth when he still had to undergo moments like this. 

He took the duffel/destiny option. After all, nothing ventured... 

* * *

The ambiance of the room enveloped him intimately as soon as Amanda let him inside. She offered only a softly worded 'welcome', accompanied by a finger to his lips to caution him to silence. 

Soft music, soft light, deep warmth emanating from the fire that crackled with lively coziness in the depths of the stove—an immediate impression of comfort and indulgence. His cheeks and ears tingled pleasantly, and he almost expected to see himself steam from the change away from the frigid air outside. As his eyes adjusted he began to pick out details; candles and incense burners; Amanda closing the door behind him, lovely in a short, open robe of midnight blue silk and nothing else; and, of course, the piece de resistance, the lucky birthday boy; Duncan MacLeod. 

Looking fairly concerned about all this. But still, Methos had to admit, looking quite devastating anyway. 

Methos didn't blame him for the apparent wariness—Duncan was, after all, blinded and gagged with two lengths of some silver-grey fabric, stripped naked, dewed with sweat, and tied to a sturdy wooden chair; each ankle secured to one of the front legs, hands bound behind the chair- back. Mac would know that another Immortal had entered the room and that Amanda had issued a welcome, but nothing more—plenty of uncertainty to justify those tight, rigid muscles and that knotted brow. 

Methos smiled. He turned to Amanda, who was watching him eagerly, waiting for his response. 

//Well I'll be damned// he mouthed at her silently. 

//But of course// she smiled back, obviously pleased. 

"Duncan," Amanda began soothingly while she waved at Methos to unburden himself, "I've invited a friend to help me tonight—we won't hurt you, and we won't do anything you don't want. Do you accept? Nod yes, or shake your head no." 

Methos paused in the act of twisting out of his coat, watching, his breath held unconsciously. Duncan hesitated; his head turned to the side as if listening intently. Methos felt his heart pound, agitation that didn't die away when Duncan shrugged and uttered a few muffled syllables. 

He was about to speak, would have spoken if Amanda's hand hadn't covered his mouth. She pulled restlessly at his sweater, telling him without words to take it off; then walked away towards the small, cleared area where Mac was sweating out the unexpected risks associated with his birthday present. Methos watched, mesmerized, his hands lazy with the slow removal of his own clothing while Amanda slipped silently out of her robe, straddled Duncan's corded thighs and settled her bare bottom onto his lap. 

"I've been warming him up, so to speak," she murmured proudly, running her hands slowly through his hair, down to his barely shivering shoulders, "and he's been very, very good so far, haven't you, love?" 

Methos flushed hot with response as he watched Amanda wrap around Mac and bend down to his face, tracing sundered lips with the tip of her tongue. Duncan strained towards her, a liquid, uncertain, but undoubtedly desperate noise filtering past the gag. Methos' hands paused on the button of his jeans, wracked with a shudder of arousal so profound that he forced himself to be still for a moment, lest he give in to the overwhelming urge to rush over there and just... 

"My friend is watching us now, Duncan," Amanda purred, "looking at how beautiful you are like this, wanting you. You like to be looked at, don't you?" 

Apparently Duncan did, but was none too comfortable with it. His normally olive skin bloomed crimson, but his shifting, restless, straining limbs told a different story. Lovely. 

Methos stripped off his boxers and stood, naked and painfully erect, his nipples tight despite the heat of the room. Amanda waved him towards them and he obeyed automatically—his body moved towards the promise of fulfillment, even as his mind cautioned that he might be putting his clothes on and fleeing in one hell of a hurry in just a few moments. 

Amanda rose from Duncan's lap and circled around to the back of the chair as her hands fluttered over the bared, damp muscles of Duncan's chest, at once soothing and tantalizing without gratification. The Highlander shivered, tilted his head once more in that listening attitude, evidently aware of Methos' approach even though his steps were as silent as he could make them. 

Methos stopped in front of the bound man, glad to look his fill without fear of what Duncan might read in his eyes. This vulnerable, aroused, unsure picture before him rocked him with lust so severe that he swayed where he stood; it was all he could do to keep from sinking to his knees and taking Duncan's swollen, leaking erection as deep into his throat as he could get it. He could almost taste the slick salt fluid, memory and desire fused to a perfect tonal hum of want. 

Amanda's hands were busy, and then she slipped the fabric muffle teasingly from between Duncan's lips. The resulting gasps for air and halting words thrilled Methos—Mac was beautiful gagged, true enough; but who could resist the pleasure of that dark, emotional voice? 

"Amanda,"— _gasp_ —"I'm not sure about this—why don't you—" 

Instinct and need led him down, brought him against those suddenly available lips without another thought. His head swam. It had been too long—too long just thinking about what it had been like to kiss and bite those soft lips, a memory hoarded and brought out only during moments of grave necessity... So now Methos licked and nuzzled, kissed and devoured and fed... His hands came to cup smooth, new-shaven cheeks; the better to tilt this captive, this utterly desirable Highlander into a position where his mouth might be accessed fully... such a warm, soft tongue... 

Duncan froze under his touch, rigid and gasping and startled; silent until a tremor broke through the lock on his limbs, and then only giving voice to a shocked moan. 

This might be it—this could very well be all he was going to get. The moment of determination was too close for Methos to pull away lightly, so he sucked hungrily on Duncan's tongue until his own body quivered, until he knew that one more second of this crazy indulgence was going to make him come. His chest heaved when he pulled away, but he forced himself to breathe quietly. 

"Methos..." 

Duncan spoke the word with absolute certainty, but there was no certainty echoed in his posture—he shrank away, back into Amanda's calming hands. Methos saw her about to speak, shook his head silently. He wanted Duncan to take or leave him on his own merits this time, not because of any of Amanda's cajoling promises. 

"Happy birthday, Mac." Methos gave in and went to his knees, limiting himself strictly to only one soft touch of either hand on Duncan's tense thighs. "You know why I'm here." 

He didn't expect to say that. Apparently, Mac didn't expect to hear it—he tensed further. Methos took a breath, and resumed. "I want to be here, Duncan; but I'll go if you want me to. I'm not going to give you any present you don't feel like taking." 

He watched Duncan swallow, traced out the visible flutter of a speeding pulse under increasingly damp skin. 

"I... I don't..." The Highlander's voice was hoarse and full of tension, Methos could almost hear Duncan talking himself out of it. 

"Wait," he interjected, his own voice as calm as he could make it. "Let me refresh your memory, Mac—this one thing, and then you can decide." 

He didn't wait for a response—to wait was to risk the possibility of thought for both of them. Instead he slid forward, relished the touch of flesh under his hands that was bound and stripped for the purposes of pleasure—heady stuff, indeed—and slid his open, eager mouth around Duncan's erection. 

"Oh my..." Amanda's soft words penetrated through even past the noise of his own thundering heartbeat pounding in his ears. Methos opened and sank down, catching the slippery evidence of arousal with his tongue as he plunged lower, feeding that place in himself that hungered. His own moan was stifled, but Duncan's ripped through him like fire; so deep that it vibrated through the flesh stretching him. Oh—this was consuming him, sure enough; slow, languid strokes in and out of his practiced throat, sucking and swallowing and all the time wanting more—if Duncan sent him away after this, he'd have to toss off for a solid week before he'd be able to _walk_... 

Duncan's hips lifted towards him in wonderful, greedy rhythm, punctuated by grunts and sighs from above that seemed the fulfillment of every heated fantasy he'd ever had. Methos breathed in the taste/scent of musk and hot desire, liquefying slowly into a boneless, mindless mass devoted only to the pleasure of the beautiful man twisting beneath him. 

"Give it up, Duncan." Amanda's voice floated distantly to his ears, hazily demanding. "Don't try to pretend you don't love fucking his mouth. Is he hot, when he takes you deep like that?" 

Duncan shuddered fiercely, flamed Methos' nerves again with another staggering groan. The thrusts into his mouth speeded slightly. 

"Too bad you can't see this, love; too bad you can't watch him take you in. You could make him come, you know—if I gave you your hands you'd grab for him, wouldn't you? You'd grab him and hold his head and get as deep inside as you possibly could, right? That would do it, Duncan, that would just make him explode..." 

Duncan came in his mouth with a choked, pleasured howl, his body bucking so hard that for a moment Methos thought the chair would splinter and break. He held on, his hands tight on the Highlander's thighs while he drank deep of the salt-bitter essence of ecstasy, feeling his own body tremble on the edge. His cock throbbed hard, sympathetic to the one that pulsed out pleasure into his mouth in measured doses, liquid heat that burned through his system like individual electric shocks. 

In the end, however, he kept himself from erupting through force of will— even now he was uncertain, even now he didn't know which way Duncan would go. He locked down on his body's incessant demands, sucked his slow and gentle way off of the half-erect shaft in his mouth, and finally looked up. 

Duncan's chest heaved, now flushed a deep and dusky rose, and the grey blindfold had been sweated dark with free-flowing perspiration. Methos heated with equal, sudden measures of pride and dread—he'd done that, brought Mac to that lovely place of carnal satiation; now if only he could be sure that he'd be staying... 

"Okay, Duncan?" His lips moved before the thought was even fully expressed, a compound question asked in the simplest terms. He found himself holding his breath again. 

"Jesus," Duncan's voice was low, faint and breathless. "Methos, that was.... . Okay?" A throaty half-groan blew warm air over Methos' forehead, followed by a dark chuckle, "I dunno, maybe if you... convinced me, somehow.... ." 

The words were lost, buried under further chuckling and Amanda's loud but somehow dainty snort of incredulity—Methos didn't, couldn't join in the laughter, however, but limited himself to a sigh of debilitated relief as he lowered his hot face onto Duncan's relaxed thigh. 

* * *

Amanda had brought plenty of the long, soft strips of grey fabric—a rather dismaying amount, actually; enough to tie up a whole battalion of Highlanders. Methos wondered idly what exactly she'd had in mind as he selected two at random, then turned to where Amanda was ruining her silk robe by using it to wipe the sweat from Duncan's face. 

"Put the gag back, Amanda." His stern tone reverberated through the room, and both Duncan and Amanda tensed—Amanda with evident excitement, Duncan with something that looked a lot more like uneasiness. Amanda did as he'd asked quickly, looking toward him with wicked curiosity when she wasn't busy checking the knot to make sure that it didn't catch Mac's hair. Methos noticed the quick, expert way she fulfilled his request, and made a mental note to get her tipsy on good wine at some point in the future and pump her for all her tales of experience—that touch was just too practiced... 

And then there was only focus, only the free flood of creative urges that no longer had to be held back, now that he was here for the duration. He snatched up a pillow from the bed and then approached the other two quickly. He kissed Amanda hard and demandingly, waiting until she whimpered into his open mouth before he released her; almost cold with the level of control he'd required of himself. 

"You'll like this," he promised softly, guiding her to kneel on the pillow he placed on the floor between Duncan's feet. He bound her eyes tenderly while she shivered, heard two gasps echo each other as she leaned forward and her head came to rest against Duncan's stomach. Before she could move away he'd circled to the back of the chair and found her hands. He pulled them through and secured them together quickly with the second piece of fabric, wrist crossing wrist over Mac's bound hands so that her upper body was pulled tight against Duncan's groin, without much room to move. 

"Oh..." A soft, plaintive sound from her: essential, distilled Amanda... when she wasn't being demanding, that is. He hushed her absently. 

Methos circled around to the other side of the chair, greedily absorbing the picture of what only he could see. Amanda's skin glowed against Duncan's dark complexion, her narrow back framed by strong, corded thighs a contrast that was almost dangerously tempting. Both bodies trembled slightly, and despite her bonds Amanda seemed to be doing her level best to slide her bare breasts over Duncan's groin. Mac looked nearly pained. 

"Amanda—stop that," Methos snapped. At once both of them froze into stillness. 

Methos reached out casually, ran one hand from Duncan's temple down over the tense throat, between the hardened buds of nipples and softly onto Amanda's neck, finally down her spine to trail away gently just as he reached the crack of her curved ass. A tremor ran from one body smoothly into the other, as if they were actually one flesh. 

"Beautiful," he murmured. It was the only word he could come up with. 

Amanda interrupted his contemplation. "Methos," she gasped, arching back toward him, her eager, urgent voice muffled against Duncan's sternum. 

Methos spanked her right buttock; only lightly, but the sound was like a whipcrack in the close quiet of the room. Both she and Mac jumped, and two sharp inhalations echoed. 

"Patience, Amanda," he said soothingly. He polished the blushing flesh he'd abused, teasing a little at the way she arched into it, admiring how quickly a plain handprint rose on her white skin. "My turn now." 

He stepped astride her kneeling body, and leaned forward to brush Duncan's cheek softly with his fingers. "I think you probably know what I have in mind, Mac. Would you like to watch?" 

The Highlander tensed a little, and his brows drew together again. 

"You don't have to," Methos continued calmly, "if you'd rather keep the blindfold." 

Uncertainty and hesitation, alarm and desire—he watched them all flicker over Duncan's face with eerie speed. He bent closer, until their lips almost touched. 

"Do you want to watch me fuck Amanda?" 

Duncan turned crimson beneath his blindfold, and drew in a massive breath through his nose. Between his knees, Methos felt Amanda shiver. He waited. 

Duncan nodded, faintly. 

Methos pushed the blindfold off, drew the movement out into a lingering caress through long, silky strands of hair. 

Duncan met his eyes, and Methos felt the weight of that hot, intense look almost like a blow; right here and right now, there was nothing in the world except that passionate, liquid gaze. 

"Hello there," Methos whispered, careful to let slip only the safe words, only the faintest acknowledgement of what it meant for them to face each other in this moment. Duncan nodded again, more firmly this time. Methos brought his fingers around slowly, traced back and forth over rosy, parted lips and the material between them. 

"Do you want me to take this off?" He bit his own lip to stop himself there—abruptly he knew that he would do anything, anything those speaking eyes asked of him. 

Duncan blinked and swallowed, paused, and then shook his head slowly. Methos smiled. 

He pulled his hand away from Duncan's face, relishing the tingle that lingered at the tips of his fingers. Methos felt almost disconnected from his body as he sank to his knees between Amanda's spread calves— Duncan's dark gaze buoyed him, held him floating in a honey-slow tide of want. 

He reached forward, and dragged his hands from Duncan's thighs over Amanda's shoulders to her hips, marveling again at that dual, shared shudder. When he reached his destination he circled downwards underneath her, dove with both hands into the liquid heat of her body. She gasped and bucked beneath him, but Methos never let his eyes move away from the Highlander's. 

"Wet," he murmured, and pulled in a hungry breath. God—the smell of Amanda in heat—"So wet..." He used one hand to spread her delicately open, and the other full palm, flat against her, slipping delightfully. "So much, Amanda—why don't we share?" 

He pulled his drenched hand from her shivering warmth, smiling and kissing her shoulder in apology when she whined softly in protest. He leaned forward a little and reached up beneath her chest; deep into the hot, magical crevice where her smooth breasts pressed hard against Duncan's renewed erection. He rubbed slick moisture over her pointed, swollen mounds, his other hand tight on her hip to keep her still. Not quite wet enough. Patiently, he pulled his hand free, traced down her torso with his fingernails— 

"Methos _please_!" Amanda's voice was plaintive and desperate, and her struggles against him escalated into frantic bucking. Methos watched Duncan's pupils dilate as her chest slid over his groin wildly, and for a moment he thought a descent into orgasmic chaos was pretty much inevitable. However, when he tightened down on her hip hard enough to bruise she squeaked and went still, narrowly averting premature capitulation. 

Methos sighed. "Now you've done it, Amanda. I'm going to have to come up with something deeply terrible to make you pay for that." 

He felt his words shiver through her frame, saw them strike home in MacLeod's eyes. His hand slipped back between her thighs; petting, gathering, then up again between their two bodies to slick and stroke Duncan's rigid cock. Mac went with him—taking, thrusting; moaning rough lust into his gag without ever breaking the lock they had on each other's vision. Methos felt his control teeter precariously, a dangerous and nearly overwhelming compulsion to just shove himself into Amanda and put the three of them out of them out of their collective misery; but... no. There was more that he wanted. He gave one last, lingering squeeze, and backed off, finally breaking that devastating eye contact that was doing such delightful things to him. 

"Now, Amanda," he said softly, touching her back as if he were gentling a restive horse, "you can have three words—'yes', 'please' and 'stop'. Every other word is off-limits to you." He smiled at her sigh of response. "Of course, noises are fair game and don't count. Do you understand?" 

"Yes—Ahh..." 

Evidently, she'd understood perfectly. Oh—Amanda could be so _good_ when she tried... Methos reached around and down again, offered a little reward of tender, circling touches while his other hand directed the tip of his burning erection to the cleft between her thighs. He only teased, only slipped up and down in slow, lazy rhythm; refusing penetration until he had her in a fine, trembling state. 

"Please—pleaseplease-oh-please..." The frantic note was gone from Amanda's voice, replaced by a rough whisper that sounded almost reverent. The rush of power, the rush of control was dizzying. Methos looked up. 

If ever a look whispered 'please', MacLeod's did. Methos held that dark- brown gaze while he sank deep into Amanda's hot wetness—the collective, gusty sigh would have filled the sails on a clipper ship. He thrust twice, lazily; his spine arched reflexively at the deliciously snug fit—Amanda was nearly quivering within, a hunger that would seduce him out of his nicely gauged control if he wasn't careful. 

When Mac's eyes dropped from his own they went straight to where Methos plunged deep between Amanda's thighs—it seemed to Methos that he could feel the weight and warmth of that look, a burning consumption that almost outdid the heat inside. For a few moments Methos concentrated only on his own pleasure and Duncan's visceral response to it; watching Mac watch him moving within Amanda was a feedback loop of sensation that threatened to suffocate him with voluptuous indulgence. His fingers never left off stroking her, but every time he felt a pulse begin under his touch he stilled and pressed the palm of his hand hard against her, denying release while relishing her helpless whimper of disappointment. 

All too soon it was too much, and Methos knew that one or two more full strokes into her welcoming body would end it for him. "Okay, Amanda," he panted, "remember that you can say 'stop', if this hurts." He pulled his drenched fingers away, his grip slick and wet on her thighs as he nudged her to open further. When she was as spread and vulnerable as she could get he crowded close to her, deep in to his full length and his body hard, hard against her while he reached forward. Her moan was dark and halting, a perfectly balanced sound of pain and pleasure, and it buzzed down his spine as if it carried an actual electric charge. 

His hands shook as he found the outer curve of her breasts, a tremor that radiated out to the other two bodies as he gathered her close and pushed the slick mounds together; tight together to squeeze fiercely on Duncan's erection. Now _two_ moans echoed blissfully in his ears; one muffled, one lush and unrestrained. In this position he couldn't pull back much, but their three bodies were connected so closely that every faint rocking motion of his hips reverberated through Amanda and over Duncan—every move that he made brought some quiver or sound of response. 

He had to look up now to see MacLeod's face, but the tension in his neck was well worth it. Duncan's nostrils flared with the labor of taking in enough air; corded muscles strained in his neck and shoulders while he arched up against Amanda's chest. Methos shivered. 

"Is this good, Highlander?" he asked with breath he didn't know he had. "Hot, and—wet, and—tight enough for you?" 

Duncan's eyes blazed, a fury of earthy passion. He nodded, grunted, and strained forwards so hard that it made the chair creak alarmingly. 

Methos groaned. His body trembled and his senses threatened to overwhelm him, but somehow he found the strength to hold off while he settled his knees a bit more firmly between Amanda's and started fucking her as hard as restricted movement would allow. Amanda arched beneath him, her sobs of pleasure delighted his ears while he watched the heat in Duncan's eyes purify, intensify; spiral down to the simple response of raw erotic appetite. 

Amanda's body clenched around him, not coming but damned close. Methos thrust harder, battering against her, force that rippled through her body to echo in quick tight slides around Duncan's cock. His head swam, suffused and pounding with each beat of his heart—everything trembled, everything melded into an indefinite pleasure-haze as barriers fell away between them, leaving them shifting together as one extended, gasping, eager being. 

"I want to watch you come, Duncan," he couldn't hear his own words above the thudding rush in his ears and the low-frequency vibration of Amanda's moans, but he felt his lips move and he saw Mac's leap of response, so he supposed he must have really said it. Beneath him Amanda uttered a high, piercing cry and went completely rigid; a locking of muscles that made it very easy to shuttle her stiff body back and forth between them, deliriously fast. Methos pounded into her ruthlessly, his hands rough and demanding on her breasts, almost brutal. When she came she seemed almost to shatter around him, a tight-furled creature breaking apart under heavy treatment into shivering joy. He rocked her through it, eased and cradled her body with rough tenderness as he felt her crest again and again; those indescribably wonderful orgasms that women could have, one peak to another with barely a valley between. 

Above her writhing form Duncan strained towards him, curled around Amanda's shoulders as if tortured. Methos watched every stroke, every shiver spark in his eyes; he moved and shifted and squeezed automatically as his own body sought release only through MacLeod's. 

"Please," he managed with numb lips, "do it." 

Duncan's low, muffled wail and abruptly dilated pupils threw Methos back into raw physical awareness with savage force—he'd fended it off for the sake of the control he needed, but now, watching Duncan heave, shudder and come; the grip and swell of pleasure refused to be denied. Methos' hips twisted fiercely as he came, groaning, falling into the brown depths of Duncan's eyes even as he throbbed violently into Amanda's sweet wetness. He watched Mac greedily, absorbing every flutter of pulse and drip of perspiration, drinking him in, complete. 

Before he could stop himself he collapsed forward onto Amanda's damp shoulders, shaking, eyes finally closed as twitches chased through the three of them, one response setting off another. 

"Christ—I think that almost killed me," he gasped dimly, his hands roving sluggishly over random flesh. 

"Yes," Amanda whispered beneath him, breathless. "But it's a good thing you'll come back, 'cause I think I know what I want for _my_ birthday." 

Methos and Duncan uttered simultaneous snorts of dismay, eerily harmonic. 

* * *

Amanda had offered the opinion that chairs were good enough for a change of pace, but that beds had them beat as far as comfort and latitude of options. Methos was happy enough to agree with her—he was happy enough to agree to almost anything during the silly, tipsy period of lassitude that followed while both of them took turns feeding Duncan tidbits of cake and increasingly erotic sips of wine. 

Apparently Mac had finally reached a new maturity on this his four- hundred-and-third-birthday—enough maturity not to be put off by the fact that one of the naked people rubbing and feeding and teasing him was a man. No small triumph, in Methos' opinion; and no small cause for celebration, either. 

Every time Amanda suggested that they move towards the shower, Methos put her off. "I don't _want_ you to bathe, Amanda," he replied reasonably, scenting towards her like an animal; "I _like_ it when you smell like an unwashed trollop—very nostalgic, you know? Anyway, it suits you." 

Duncan hadn't joined in the pillow-fight that ensued from that particular remark, but he hadn't appeared unduly disturbed by it, either. Methos caught glimpses of the Highlander placidly regarding the pair of them, nibbling bemusedly on a piece of cake while Methos got clobbered. 

"Besides," Methos panted finally, holding Amanda and her death-dealing pillow off with the last of his strength, "I like the idea of all the work we're going to have to do to lick that frosting off of Mac's body hair—it must be dried to a nice glaze by now..." 

Her Achilles' heel, and not an uncommon one—she couldn't fight while she was laughing. Methos used the advantage to disarm her; and was about to execute a combined attack strategy of tickling and bad jokes when her little body was whipped out of his clutches as quickly as if she'd been sucked into a vortex. 

No vortex here—only Duncan MacLeod; apparently sufficiently refreshed with cake and wine to be ready for another go. The Highlander had pinned Amanda flat to the bed, and now he kneeled over her menacingly, a dark, barbarian god come to exact retribution. 

"Methos," Duncan's voice shivered down his spine, cut cleanly through Amanda's gasps of surprise, "go and get some of those ties, will you?" 

Amanda's scandalized squeal was so convincing that Methos almost laughed out loud, but he subdued himself as he selected a handful of fabric strips, and returned quickly to stand beside the bed. The picture they made both touched and amused him—the two of them struggled languidly amidst a battlefield of crumbs; nude and painted sticky with streaks of white frosting and other equally enticing (albeit less dessert- oriented) substances. He snorted. 

MacLeod looked at him composedly. "Something funny, Methos?" 

"You two. You look like an X-rated Sara Lee commercial." 

Duncan burst out laughing—that deep, intense, wine-enhanced laugh Methos didn't get to hear often enough. Mac looked like he would have lost control of Amanda if she hadn't been weak with giggling, if she hadn't been occupied with breathless suggestions that 'sex sells' and 'wouldn't Duncan Hines be more appropriate?' Methos did his best to help, and eventually the two of them sobered enough to get her hands bound to either side of the bed. Methos had taken another strip and was angling for one of her flailing legs when Mac stopped him. 

"That's enough—I think we can handle the rest." MacLeod's eyes were suddenly very serious; serious and warm, and urgent enough to create a small, internal explosion of heat that had Methos hard and aching in about three seconds. Next to them, Amanda became abruptly still. 

Methos felt almost as if he were suspended in some strange, trancelike state when Duncan reached for him; he floated free, his mind shockingly silent as the Highlander guided him up off the bed, pulled him close and descended on him. It took two whole heartbeats for it to get through to him that Mac evidently meant business; there was a strong, warm hand on either side of his face, and that soft, questing tongue was in his mouth, opening him, looking for something... 

"Oh..." Methos shuddered violently, galvanized. "Mac..." That luscious mouth pulled away, but hovered close, waiting. "I'm going to come if you do that..." 

Damn. He hadn't meant to say that out loud, but, heaven help him, it was true. Those lips on his, hungry, claiming him; had pushed him from hot to boiling with lightning speed—his body cried out, so desperate, wanting so much... 

Duncan smiled at him, warm and kind. "Not yet, Methos." Methos closed his eyes as Duncan fluttered a gentle kiss against each eyelid, a touch so pure that he seemed to hear distant singing, sweet and redeeming. 

The only thing that pulled them apart was Amanda's low groan. Methos looked at her, saw her staring at Duncan with wide, hot, disbelieving eyes. Her voice shook a little. 

"Who are you, and what have you done with Duncan?" 

Methos ached as Duncan moved away from him. "I gave him the night off." 

Still burning, still shaking with his lips tender and wet where Duncan had licked them, Methos watched Mac advance on Amanda's bound body. "I thought you might have more fun with me." 

Methos remembered that tone, that threatening, velvet tone of voice that brought back crystal-shard memories of getting fucked through the mattress by a gorgeous Scottish brute. He crept towards the bed, knowing that if he didn't sit down he was going to go straight to the floor pretty soon, dizzy and spinning and lost. 

He watched, entranced, as Duncan manipulated Amanda's limbs with irresistible, inexorable precision. The Highlander knelt between her open legs, took her bottom in both hands and lifted her lower body straight off the bed as he crept forward. Amanda's soft, high-pitched sighs of excitement seemed to exert actual pressure on Methos' ears—each one dug into him while his vision faded to black at the edges around the one thing he focused on, the place where Duncan dragged Amanda up his thighs and onto his cock with one casual, relentless pull. 

"Oh..." Methos and Amanda in stereo this time. Duncan was quiet, but Methos could see a fine sheen of perspiration starting to glow over his skin. Mac barely moved his hips at all—but his hands lifted Amanda effortlessly up and down the full length of his shaft with slow, deep strokes; patient but unrelenting. When her head tossed ecstatically on the pillow, Methos sympathized down to the smallest quiver. 

"Methos," the passion hidden in Duncan's voice, a backdrop of passion with his name on those lips, made his cock twitch. "Come here—you can help me with this." 

Oh my—could he ever. Methos obeyed, crept slowly closer until he felt waves of heat that poured off of their shifting bodies. He forced his eyes away from the place where Mac drove into her; a pointless exercise, as it turned out, because as soon as he got close enough Duncan reached for his head and pushed him downwards. 

Whatever it was that had gotten into MacLeod, Methos sincerely hoped that it never got out of him. Mac's hand was on the nape of his neck for only a brief moment before shifting back underneath Amanda, but that one, demanding touch was sufficient to blister Methos with desire. He used one hand to spread Amanda tenderly, saw from the edge of his vision how his touch shivered the muscles of her inner thighs, and then engulfed her slick clitoris with his open mouth. 

Duncan, ever courteous, had switched tactics—now he held Amanda still for Methos' flickering tongue while he did all the thrusting—a change that seemed to work well for her, given the suddenly increased fervor of her moans. Once again Methos felt a flash of intimate, piercing envy— Duncan rode her hard; strokes that Methos remembered well. He shuddered. 

"You... oh yes—both of you—more..." Amanda's broken words burned within him, and Methos sighed as he nibbled her softly. One flash of his tongue snaked down lower, tingled with salt and musk against Duncan's shaft, sliding in, out, and in again while Amanda writhed. 

"Amanda—open your eyes," Duncan's voice was a growl, a low fury of intensity. Methos heard her gasp, echoed by his own as Mac reached for him and pulled him up. "Methos..." 

"Mmm..." Methos blinked, admiring. The Highlander was flushed and damp, his hair wild, utterly beautiful. 

"I missed your mouth." Duncan kissed him hard, sucking Amanda's moisture off his tongue while she wailed like a woman possessed. Methos barely had the presence of mind to slip his thumb between her legs while Mac kissed him breathless; the tremors of her cresting pleasure throbbed against his hand with exquisite perfection. 

Methos moaned when Duncan pulled away; his stomach curled in on itself with want. Mac gasped against his lips, his eyes hot and demanding. "Don't let her stop, Methos. Just... help me do this." 

Okay. Damn. His bones had obviously melted. He'd have to do without. Methos slid from Duncan's grasp and obeyed, ranging the length of her body with hands and tongue, drawing out Amanda's passion until her cries were almost shrieks, until her restrained limbs quivered with helpless struggle. When he bit her nipples she almost threw herself off the bed, but Methos used one hand clenched tight in her short, silky hair and the other hard between her legs to keep her immobile. 

And through the whole time, while Amanda came again and again and Methos ached with unfulfilled need, Duncan never missed a stroke. Methos heard the Highlander's breath gradually shorten, felt his own body tense abruptly when Mac uttered a soft, pained groan, and wondered disconsolately whether it would be taken amiss if he suggested that Duncan should perhaps pull his cock out right now and push it straight into his throat. 

"Methos— _fuck_ —get down here..." 

Methos went. Duncan's hand clenched fiercely on the back of his neck, pushing his open mouth hard between Amanda's legs. Methos drifted, rolling and lost in sensation while Amanda surged against his tongue and screamed; screams that couldn't obscure Duncan's earthy, satisfied grunts. He abruptly forgot that he needed to breathe. 

He felt it when Amanda passed out, her tight, spasming muscles relaxed into limp passivity between the space of one heartbeat and the next. Her voice slurred off into incomprehensible, rhythmic sighing; and Methos wasn't at all surprised when he pulled away and looked at her to see that she was solidly out, lax in her bonds. What did surprise him, however, was the fact that black clouds seemed to be obtruding on his vision—it wasn't until he pulled in too-long-delayed air that it occurred to him that he was about to pass out himself. 

He put his head down on her drenched midriff and gasped, locked in his own world where he seemed to be able to feel each individual molecule of air that brushed against his overheated skin. //Shower// he thought dimly. //Very soon. Jerking off soon would be good.// His mind quieted, satisfied with a temporary and ardent promise. 

Vague motion blurred at the edge of his field of vision—Duncan, reaching gingerly for one of Amanda's wrists. As soon as he felt like he could move Methos bestirred himself and pitched in. He worked slowly to free her other wrist from the broad wrap of fabric; which, despite its softness, had tightened cruelly on her delicate skin. As he rubbed at the red mark, Methos warmed in familiar gratitude to the fortuitous alliance of Immortal healing and rough sex. 

"Christ..." Duncan sounded totally out of breath. Methos didn't blame him—he had, after all, just pumped Amanda into unconsciousness—not an easy task. 

He turned to watch Mac settle Amanda tenderly beneath the covers. As usual, she curled quickly into a satisfied, snuggling ball. Methos smiled. "Everything okay?" he whispered. 

Duncan grinned at him shakily. "Oh yeah—I just realized that I lost count of her orgasms... too bad—I was going for a record..." 

Methos had to bite his lips to keep from laughing. For a moment it was a losing battle, but the urge to snicker departed abruptly as Duncan leaned towards him over Amanda's slumbering form and stabbed that wicked tongue between his lips. Methos got out one interrogatory gasp of surprised pleasure before the world washed away to nothing more than deepening waves of heat. 

"Oh god... Duncan..." He pulled away, shaking, ready to bolt for the shower to save himself the ignominy of a public wank. He looked down, shocked to see that Mac's cock was already fully erect, slick and so engorged it was almost purple. "Already?" he asked shakily, "are you sure it was Amanda's record you were trying for, Mac?" 

Duncan smiled into his eyes for a moment, full and warm, but then his eyelids fluttered down and he looked away. "Well, I... I didn't—I didn't finish. With Amanda, I mean." 

Methos stared at him, disbelieving. "Why? I mean—why not?" 

Duncan's voice was quiet, Methos had to strain to hear it over the sound of his own rushing heart. "I thought... maybe you might not want me to. Maybe you might want... something else." 

Methos drew in a slow breath, something to focus on and use as an excuse to cover the fact that his heart had just broken open and was bleeding something sweet and terrible deep in his chest. "Oh..." 

The word hung between them, resonant of all the unspoken things. Methos clenched his hands into fists; grasping at anything—anything that would stop him from just reaching out and scaring the hell out of that gorgeous, wary Scot... "Anything," he whispered, unknowing until it reached his ears. He cleared his throat. "Anything you want, Mac." 

Duncan didn't look at him, but his cheeks were almost brilliantly red, his forehead knotted. "Help me move Amanda over," he murmured, barely audible. 

Methos obliged, and soon they had her settled peacefully to one side of the big bed, after which Methos was presented with the terrifying and extraordinary reality of Duncan MacLeod, staring at him as if mesmerized, fluctuations from reticence to outright fear to melting lust plain on his face. 

Methos reached out slowly, schooling his hand not to tremble as he brushed gently over Duncan's cheek. Mac's eyes closed and then it was easier, the easiest thing in the world to seek out those silken, mind- blowing lips, lips that opened under his own as if they'd been waiting for him. Oh yes... 

Methos abandoned himself to the slow tides washing through him, to the feel of the vibrant man in his arms; all live passion and sugar-wet kisses. Frenzy and need seemed to have retreated far over some interior horizon, left him stranded with only an endless, oceanic patience; unsuspected fortitude and the urge to give this man every single pleasure that might be given. When Duncan dragged him down, locked him tight under a blissful, heavy weight, Methos went with a swooning willingness and joy that threatened to blind him. 

"Methos," Duncan murmured the word close behind his ear; soft and astonished. "Methos... Methos... God—I could kiss you forever..." 

//Okay. Yes, please.// Only his thoughts could reply—his mouth was incapacitated, able to do no more than pull in air and bloom warm with Duncan's heady kisses. Arms tightened around him, and Methos lost a breathless moan between Mac's lips as Duncan moved over him sinuously, rocking them together. Without warning Methos found himself trembling on the keen, aching edge of orgasm, suddenly all too aware of how their cocks pressed and rubbed against each other with maddening slowness. 

"Duncan—please..." He gasped it out, "I'm shaking myself apart, here. Will you... I want to feel you in me—" 

Duncan's only response was a swift, thorough kiss that left Methos dizzy, left him pawing blindly at the bedside table in search of something slippery. Mac reached over to his hand, twined with his fingers, and guided him unerringly to a flip-top bottle of oil. Methos seized it fiercely, but before he could open it Duncan stayed him, brought their eyes together through the simple expedient of cupping his face. 

"I think I've done enough of the hard work for one night," Duncan whispered hoarsely, looking deep into his eyes. "Your turn, Methos." 

For one horrible moment Methos suffered an almost insurmountable urge to throw Duncan off him and run. He knew exactly what Mac meant—oh yes; his mind provided him immediately with a full-color, three- dimensional illustration, complete with soundtrack, but... 

But, he couldn't possibly. Not that kind of intimacy; that kind of deepening of what was already between them; that kind of risk when he knew full well that Mac had never... his mind babbled, tripped over itself in a confused rush, assuring him that either he'd end up in love, or Duncan would never speak to him again, or possibly both. 

Methos closed his eyes quickly, waged a brief but bitter war between his common sense and something that went deeper than temptation, deeper than desire... and sighed. This staggering and unexpected trust, this surprise gift... it was a _good_ thing. 

That is, he amended, he could _make_ it a good thing, if he could keep himself from spurting all over Duncan's stomach while thinking about it. Methos sighed again; eyes still closed, and rubbed Duncan's smooth cheek with his own in acquiescence and ardor—surrendering, even as he drew inward to gather his strength. 

* * *

As it turned out, he needed every bit of it. Mac seemed determined to do everything in his power to drive Methos insane—he rewarded Methos' unspoken compliance with a rash of deep-throated kisses that reminded Methos of the quick flash of pain that happened if he drank something hot too quickly and scalded his tongue—only, too-hot coffee didn't usually make him moan and shudder and writhe... although it might from now on. He didn't doubt the abilities of an association this powerful. 

Apparently, Duncan had decided that it was time for the gloves to come off—he clung to Methos fiercely, grappled with him, rolled him over and back in what space was available just to make sure that there was no neglected part of either of their bodies that had somehow missed rubbing against each other. Methos, with both fists dug deep into that marvelous, wild hair, Duncan's soft groans whispering over the skin of his neck, and the glorious sensation of being slowly crushed to death under the Highlander's full weight; almost felt, cynic though he was, that life had nothing more perfect to offer him. 

Good thing he didn't take bets. "Methos... please," the whisper breezing just below his ear jolted him as much as if it had been a full-out shriek... It also brought back a measure of control, an awesome awareness of what he'd been entrusted with. His hands did not tremble as he took the bottle of oil, as he gentled Duncan onto his side and settled close, as he cupped that beautiful face and pulled it around to him for one more unalloyed, glowing, never-to-be-forgotten kiss. 

The oil was already warm from being gripped in Duncan's hot hands. Methos poured some of it into his palm, then leaned as close as he could so Mac would have something to feel besides the... intrusion. He felt a strong, almost overwhelming urge to ask Duncan if he was sure, if this was really what he wanted, but he refused to give in to it. It seemed, somehow, almost a lack of respect to do so, and he wasn't going to cheat this experience of any mark of respect or veneration he could bring to it. There was a clear path before him. He would take it. His own craven need for reassurance be damned. 

Methos slid one arm underneath Duncan's neck, pressed with his forearm and hand on the sweat-moist but calmly breathing chest, and pulled Duncan firmly back against himself. He cradled Mac, soothing him, tracing gentle patterns with his tongue over Mac's throat and ear. When he slipped his oiled hand between the Highlander's buttocks, the man barely sighed. 

Methos found a pulse there, at Duncan's center; like breathing or heartbeat or cresting pleasure—flex and relax, open and contract. Methos waited through patient breaths, absorbed the rhythm... and entered on the open beat; the right moment, the same moment he thrust his tongue deep into Duncan's ear. 

"Oh..." 

Methos held tight as Mac rocked in his arms; another gentle wave of a body surging through some unknown—and closed his eyes on something too bright to look at that surfaced for a moment in his interior landscape. 

Now two fingers, as easy as one—Duncan breathed with him, alive inside and out; live hot rippling response and instinctual motion, rocking again. Methos dragged his lips from ear to throat, to another pulse; a strong, wild heartbeat that sank into his very bones—tongue and fingers moved in tempo, the cadence of life. 

At three fingers, something shifted indescribably. The change eluded him until he realized his own stillness—he held, he clasped and offered; but mostly he stood guard over the marvel in his arms while Duncan slowly, sweetly fucked himself on Methos' hand. 

"Duncan..." it broke from him before he could stop it, stretched his throat with unspoken words. Mac arched into him, turned his head and pressed blindly closer, shivering. 

"More, Methos." Just a whisper, warm on his lips. Methos took Duncan's mouth and held it, painting soft tongue-patterns within. Two gentle movements, and Mac's undulations finally stopped while Methos slipped out, and slipped in. 

Methos moved slowly, anticipating resistance. There was none. All he felt was a hot, welcoming channel; flexing muscles that drew him right in, further in, slow sliding richness that snugged down around him like satin. Duncan heaved in his arms, panting—it wasn't until Methos heard a breathless 'oh Christ' and felt the sheath around him ripple along his length that he realized that Mac had just come, just from one stroke. He gasped, and held on. 

"Mac... are you okay? Just hold still, I'll pull out—" 

"No—" Duncan interrupted him, holding tight to Methos' arms. "Yes, I mean, but—" a whoop of breath, "on my back—I want... I want more. To see you." 

"Okay, okay—shhh. Easy... Easy." 

The Highlander seemed utterly boneless; weighty and damp. Methos rolled him easily, lifted heavy legs up to his shoulders as if they'd break from rough usage. "You have to tell me, Duncan," he murmured, "I don't want to hurt you, and this way can be... deep." 

Duncan's eyes were only half-open, but brilliance shone out beneath lowered lashes. "Deep is good—Methos, please—" 

Such a plea, from those lips, vibrated through Methos so profoundly that he felt it in his toes. "Yes—yes, okay, Duncan. Here—kiss me." 

Methos closed on Duncan's mouth just as his cock pushed inside. Once again, there was no resistance, nothing to struggle against—he sucked hungrily on the silky tongue in his mouth while he slid deep, deeper, all the way in until his balls were cradled hard against warm skin, and there was nowhere left to go. Burning—his mouth and his cock and his eyes were all burning, all drowning in sudden and unanticipated wetness—his wetness, Duncan's; his heat, Duncan's... it was all one. 

Methos allowed his weight to push Mac hard into the bed, pinned him to rumpled sheets while his hips moved, circled, plunged and circled again. Duncan was slippery—soaked with sweat and semen, moving below at every stroke to meet him, lift up to him, take what Methos wanted so desperately to give. Methos pulled away from Mac's lips—he needed to look, needed to _see_ that he wasn't alone in this soul-searing, terrifying place. 

"Methos..." Duncan's eyes were closed, his brow tense. "Help me, I... I can't bear it..." 

Methos froze. "Hurts?" he panted, blinking sweat and dangerous tears from his eyes. "I didn't mean to hurt you—" 

"No!" Mac's voice was a low rasp. "Not—God, not hurting me. For God's sake—don't stop..." 

Obedient, Methos thrust and thrust again, one hand cupping Duncan's firm ass, the other brushing away moisture from that heartbreaking face. "I won't stop, Duncan. Not unless you want me to." Methos brushed a soft kiss on the Highlander's cheek, wincing under the terrible burn of tenderness. "What's wrong? Why can't you bear it?" 

Duncan shuddered beneath him. "I didn't know... I—I think I'm going to come again, Methos..." 

The words seemed to pierce him, shine a devastating light upon him— Methos left off petting and let his arms wrap greedily around as much of the Highlander as he could possibly reach, locking them together. "Oh Mac," he whispered close against Duncan's ear. "Then just let go—do you have any idea how fucking _beautiful_ you are when you come?" 

He felt Duncan's erection now, hard and throbbing against his belly as he took this last chance, this last moment to give everything over. His hips worked hard; plunging fast and deep while everything went dim and his heart tried to pound its way out of his body. He only managed five ruthless strokes before Mac arched beneath him and cried out his name, a sound which exploded through him with exquisitely sharp pleasure and let his body take over; writhing, bucking as deep into that silken, welcoming ass as he could get. 

"Oh my God—" 

"Please—" 

"That's... Oh, that's so..." 

"Yes—oh fuck—" 

"Come...like that, yes..." 

And then they were gasping; cheek to cheek—and shaking; body to body- -and Methos knew that he should let go... it was time for him to let go... he had to let go now—but, Christ—even the thought of it was a knife in him, a wounding; he couldn't even— 

"Don't. Don't let me go." Mac's voice, barely audible, steadied him. 

"No." His own words were breathless, strengthless... but sure. "Not until you want me to." 

It was a very, very long time before they moved apart. 

* * *

[Four months later] 

"Oui." Clipped. Terse. That don't-fuck-with-me tone. He'd like to finish this damn book before he died, which wouldn't happen unless the damn phone stopped ringing... 

A pause. Then: "Methos?" 

Instantaneous, immediate rush—hot cheeks, shaking hands, the works. Methos put down the book, forgotten. "MacLeod. Hello. Sorry, I thought it was another annoying researcher." 

"Ah. No, just me." Methos heard Duncan clear his throat, which for some strange reason brought back a complete tactile and auditory surge of perfect memory. He gripped the phone tighter, and watched absently as the front of his jeans underwent a spontaneous geological shift. 

"Well, Highlander," he said into the silence, "what can I do for you?" 

Duncan cleared his throat again briefly, paused, and then sighed so deeply that Methos expected to feel the breath of it caressing his ear. He clamped down hard on that particular thought. 

"You remember, Methos—the last time you were here?" 

Well, perhaps Methos wouldn't remember it, if he didn't bloody _think_ about it one or two hundred times a bloody _day_... "Yes—yes, of course." 

"Are you... okay with it?" 

Okay? Okay as in 'tolerant'; or okay as in 'obsessed'? Methos floundered for a moment, unsure. "Oh yes. Quite okay." He was inordinately proud of the steadiness in his voice, the calm. "Why, are you having a problem?" That was less steady. Damn! 

Thankfully, Mac rushed right in. "No—oh, it's not that. I just wondered— there's something that's come up, and I need your help." 

Methos' stomach sank. Another crusade. He could have cursed Duncan quite creatively for getting his hopes up like that. "I see." Hopefully he sounded enlightened rather than disappointed. 

"Are you available on Friday?" 

Curious—Duncan's crusades didn't usually require a datebook. "Friday? Yes, I could arrange—what's Friday?" 

More throat-clearing. More sighing. Damn that man! 

"Well, I don't know if you remember or not, but... see, Friday is... well, Friday is Amanda's birthday, and..." 

Methos listened; unspoken curses evaporating, blessing the voice that tingled against his ear while a slow, expectant smile stretched the corners of his mouth.

* * *

Aristide   
A Good Thing   
Rating: NC-17   
Characters: DM, M, A   
Classification: Adult/Slash   
Comments: Graphic heterosexual and homosexual adult content.   
Summary: A little sequel to Consent of Twain. Another plot-free wank-o- rama.   
Dedication: This one's all for Killa, with great appreciation, adoration and wusship! If you enjoy it, you have her to thank for it. If you don't, it's all my fault.   
Disclaimer: This story is rated NC-17 for graphic depiction of sexual activity with a variety of genders. You have been warned. The characters in this story are not mine. I am only borrowing them, and I mean no harm. For fun and for free, yadda-yadda-yadda. This material may not be copied or distributed without permission. Please do not link, publish or post this material without permission.   
Author's Note: Special thanks to all the depraved partners of my wild youth (a.k.a. my idiot years), for inspiring me with such naughtiness, and teaching me exactly how people can and can't bend :-)   
Feedback and virtual flogging is welcome at [email removed]   
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